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“I’m sorry, Roger.” I take up my usual spot by the dugout steps, trying to keep a low profile if I can help it.
“We’ve been playing them all weekend,” Roger grumbles. “And this is the first time the umps have warned us. I oughta report him.”
“I don’t want any trouble, Roger. I can take a few more days off, let Jose keep working with the hitters until the rest of the dust settles.”
“Sutton.” Roger wraps an arm around my shoulders. “The dust has settled just fine. You belong here, same as the rest of us. Don’t apologize for existing.”
After scoring five runs and giving up only two hits, we will be riding the high of a series win all the way to the midwest and back. Three with Milwaukee, three with Minneapolis, and then finally back home to face the Mustangs in our own stadium. Back in my office after the game, I change into my travel clothes and grab my suitcase to join the team for our flight.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rumors
MAX
After seeingElise off to work, Loretta and I watch the morning baseball analysis shows while Sutton texts me from the team’s morning meeting. It’s mostly gifs and memes and then pictures from batting practice later in the day. This is the part of suspension that I’ve never enjoyed – sure, I’m not supposed to enjoy suspension, but the older I get, the more I appreciate the extra rest. What I don’t love is the quiet.
When Elise moved in a few years ago, she needed a safe haven, a place where she was free to be herself, free to move around and not be constantly monitored and questioned as to what she was doing. I gave her a space that was all hers; a beautiful basement apartment, complete with her own kitchen and living areas. She even has her own entrance if she chooses to use it. For the first year of living here, she kept to herself, sometimes she’d join me for a meal if I was home, but most of the time she didn’t. As the wounds from her marriage – literal and metaphorical – began to heal, we spent more time together, andourrelationship began to heal, as well.
Elise and I lived for years in relative quiet, not tense or uncomfortable, it was just what we were used to. Neither of us sing, so music was to listen to. Or in my case, to play. Iappreciate good lyrics and poetry in music, one of my favorite song writers tells stories with her music and I love to sit down on a day off and justlistento her lyrics.
Sutton?
Sutton sings along.
Shefeelsthe music and moves with it.
Even manages to convince me to dance with her. Not that it takes any convincing at all to hold her in my arms. She is always making music; singing, humming, tapping out a rhythm while she waits for her coffee. Without her here, I find myself craving that noise, the sound of her sleepy first thing in the morning voice as she sings low harmonies. The high notes that she hits without even thinking about it.
“You miss her too, don’t you Loretta?” I pet my cranky cat and she swats my hand away with her paw. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I turn on Sutton’s favorite music while I clean the kitchen and vacuum the floors. Loretta watches me from her window hammock with a suspicious side eye as I reorganize the basket of toys she doesn’t play with, and move her cat tower to vacuum around. She jumps down from her hammock in a huff and bounds up the stairs. I find her later, curled up on Sutton’s pillow, sound asleep. It seems we’ve all gotten attached to our houseguest.
When the quiet of the house gets to be too much to take, I call Sam.
“What’s up, Max?”
“Do you have plans tonight?”
“Maggie is in Tacoma for a few days and is planning to drive up. What did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking you could come for dinner and watch the game, but if Maggie is coming to town, I don’t want to take you away from time with her.” Maggie and Sam have been friendssince childhood and Maggie works as a scout for the Olympians; she’s on the road a lot for work and Sam takes every chance he can get to spend time with her.
“If you’re doing the cooking, we’ll come by for dinner.”
“Maggie won’t mind?”
“I’m sure she won’t.”
Sam and Maggie arrive just before the first pitch, as I’m putting burgers on the grill.
“Leecey,” I call into the kitchen through the open patio door, “how are the potatoes looking?”
I can smell the garlic on her potato wedges and have been looking forward to eating them since she put them in the oven. Our mom always made homemade fries to go with burgers, and Elise took Mom’s recipe and made it even better with the addition of garlic, cayenne pepper, a little bit of parmesan cheese, and olive oil. Tender on the inside, a little crispy on the outside, and no-notes perfect when dipped in homemade garlic aioli.
“Ten more minutes!” She shouts back at me before sweetly welcoming Sam and Maggie to the house. Sam joins me on the patio and Maggie makes herself right at home, jumping in to help Elise with the last of the prep work.
“How’s it goin’?” Sam is far too casual and it’s a little annoying.
