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“Fine,” I flip the burgers, pressing on one just a bit and hoping Sam’s is too dry. “How areyou?”
“Oh,I’mfine. I’m not the one living with the woman I’ve been maddeningly in love with for years.”
“No, you’re right,” I squish his burger just a bit more. “You’re the one who followed the woman he loved across the country and only gets to see her when the front office decides to call her home for a day or two.”
“That’s a low blow, man.” Sam heaves a defeated sigh andwatches as Maggie helps Elise in the kitchen. “But not inaccurate. I’m glad she’s home for a few days, she needs the rest, and it’s always good to spend time with her. Thanks for inviting us tonight.”
“I’m glad you guys came. Elise needs a break from grading and getting ready for finals and I’m not good enough company to entice her up from the cave.”
“How’s she doing?” Sam’s voice loses the snark he usually reserves for me, and takes on a note of compassion. “She looks better.”
Sam has been my friend and confidant for as long as I’ve known him. When Elise was looking for a way out of her marriage Sam would sit with me and listen as I lamented my lack of influence in the situation and inability to be able to jump in and fix all of my sister's problems. Between Sam and Mandy, they convinced me not to handle my now ex-brother-in-law on my own. They made the compelling argument that I couldn’t pitch from jail. And of course they were right. So instead I hired the best lawyers I could.
“Everything is finally finished with the divorce, and he’s gone. There’s still a protection order in place, mostly for peace of mind.”
“Hers or yours?”
“Yes.” Protection order. Home security system. All for a little bit of peace for my sister. “She’s teaching, she’s coaching softball, I haven’t seen her this genuinely happy in a long time. Her team is looking good, she comes home excited after every practice and looks forward to every new school day. As her brother, I’m glad to see her healing.”
“Good. And you and Sutton?” Sam’s smirk starts to reappear.
“If we go there, you better be ready to talk about you and Maggie.”
“I think those burgers are overcooking.”
“That’s what I thought.”
After pulling the burgers from the grill, Sam and I head inside with Maggie and Elise and we build our burgers with the array of toppings and condiments that Elise put out, and pile our plates with potatoes fresh from the oven. Dinner is great, but the game is even better; we get off to a great start with a lead-off walk, a couple of base hits, and then Nico – hitting in the cleanup spot for the first time this season – knocks them all in with his first career grand slam. I wish I was there to celebrate with him, but Sutton is there, and she’s the first to greet him when he jogs down the dugout steps.
Sam and I clean up the dinner dishes after Elise excuses herself to grade a few more assignments and Maggie’s phone starts to light up with notifications.
“...might be looking to sell.”The Seattle broadcast team starts talking trade rumors. As April gives way to May, some might think it’s too soon to start talking about trades, and for a team coming off of a championship run like we did, I can’t believe we’d be sellers at the deadline.
“Maggie,” I lean over the back of the couch and keep an eye on the game, “got anything you can share with the class?”
“Would if I could, Max. But I can tell you we’ll be making moves at the deadline. I just can’t tell you one way or the other what those moves will be.”
The trade deadline is one of my least favorite days in baseball. I’ve lost a lot of teammates on deadline day over the years, and dread the rumors. I don’t have a no-trade clause in my contract, and so far that hasn’t been an issue. As far as anyone else is concerned, I’m a free agent at the end of the season and as an aging pitcher, I’m not really worth trading anyway, but there’s always that nagging fear in the back of my mind.
“You worried about the deadline?” Sam asks, droppingonto the couch beside Maggie and slinging an arm around her shoulder.
“No more than usual.” That’s what I tell them anyway, but I make a note to call my agent as soon as I can, just to see if she’s heard anything or if my name is being thrown around. “They don’t trade old guys like me.”
Usually.
“Maxwell Harrison,” Marisol Suarez, the best agent in the business, answers on the first ring. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Can’t I just call to say hi, Marisol? Does it always have to be business with you?”
“Considering you’re currently serving a suspension, your contract runs out at the end of the year, and there’s a potential for you to start the All Star Game in a few months? No. I don’t believe that you’re just calling to say hi.”
“Okay, fine. I heard on the broadcast last night that Seattle might be looking to sell at the deadline. I wondered if you’ve heard anything or if my name is being tossed around.”
“Not that I’m aware of,” the click of her keyboard can be heard across the line as she types furiously. “And I’m not seeing your name in any active trade rumors, but you and I both know what kind of chaos deadline day can be. I’ll keep my ear to the ground, okay?”
“Thanks, Marisol.” For just a minute I debate whether or not I should tell her that I’m thinking about making this my last season. If she has that information, that could change what happens at the deadline. Could make me less valuablethan I already am to any teams that might be looking. To my own team that might be looking to sell.
“Anything else?”
