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Max and I perch at a hightop table near the bar and in the midst of the celebration several of the guys stop by the table, reminding me of kids in little league hoping their mom was watching, asking if I saw their at-bats tonight, and basking in the praise when I acknowledge their hard work.
“They love you,” Max drapes an arm around my shoulders and leans close. “They want to make you proud.”
“How long do you think they’ve known about us?” I ask, looking around at the distinct lack of attention we’re receiving. You’d think that the hitting coach and veteran pitcher making out at the rooftop bar surrounded by their team would be bigger news to everyone nearby.
“They all saw the pictures of us during our suspension,” Max sighs. “It seems we were the topic of discussion in practice that morning. Roger shut it down, and Luca and Perez – surprisingly – were the ones that essentially swore the team to secrecy. To protect you. Nico told me.”
“To protect…me?”
“Yes.You.I told you, Sutton, these guys love you. They would do anything for you.”
“Except stop swinging at first pitches they should be looking at,” I grumble.
“Except that,” Max barks out a laugh. “Should we make the rounds?”
“Let them have their fun,” I barely suppress a yawn. “They won’t miss us.”
Max and I, and the coaching staff, are the liveliest of the bunch on our early morning flight back to Seattle. Jackson is asleep in his seat just shortly after boarding, face pressed to the window. I’m tucked under Max’s arm reading on my e-reader as he answers emails and reads over my shoulder, occasionally asking me to wait to turn the page until he’s finished with it.
After six hours in the air, we touch down and Roger immediately puts us all to work; we don’t have a game tonight, but we do have work to do. Bullpen sessions and hitting drills and workouts. I perch in the dugout with my tablet on my lap, watching film, reviewing new data from the stats guys, and eventually put myself in the batting cage to help with fielding drills.
When we break for lunch, I take mine back to my office for a little bit of quiet after an overstimulating day that is leading to the whisper of a migraine and I want to get out in front of it if I can. Meds and caffeine. The biggest, sweetest iced coffee the kitchen can make me and I down it in about thirty seconds. My salad is unsatisfying, but at least it’s food, and I pick at it as I read through trade rumors. Another article from Molly Mitchell, the Mustang’s beat writer, seems to be positioning her team to be making moves in the days leading up to the trade deadline. According to Molly, whose word I trust, Detroit is looking for pitching, outfield support, and they’re willing to sell the farm to chasea pennant.
Do you have a few minutes?I text Penelope, knowing she’s either in her office, or prepping the show from her hidden corner of the set that Jake carved out for her. It’s barely a minute before my phone is ringing in my hand.
“Hey Sutton!” Penelope greets me with what I’m sure is a smile and I wish I could see her face. I wish we were sitting together rather than separated by so many time zones. “What’s up?”
“I’ve got alerts set up for Molly’s articles.”
“Emma’s Molly?” Penelope asks. Her soon-to-be sister-in-law Emma, is Molly Mitchell’s older sister. I met Molly at Thanksgiving dinner last winter when Amanda invited me to join her family for the holiday. Max and Elise, too.
“Yes. Emma’s Molly.”
“She’s a brilliant baseball mind, Sutton, I don’t need to tell you that.”
“No, you don’t. Penelope, I don’t ever want to abuse our friendship, I don’t ever want to overstep. I don’t even want an answer to what I’m about to ask…”
“Ask it anyway. I’ll choose whether or not to answer.”
“Is Max going to be traded?”
“Sutton,” Penelope’s voice is gentle, soothing. “I don’t have an answer to that question. You know how unpredictable the deadline can be. But, let me assure you, you areneverabusing our friendship. I’m in your corner. Always.”
“Thank you Penelope,” I sink into my desk chair, knowing relief from this stress won’t come until after the deadline passes, but grateful nonetheless for my friend. “Tell Molly to keep up the good work in Detroit.”
“I will. And you do the same in Seattle. Tell Max that Jake and I say hello.”
“I will, and give the girls my love.”
By the time this day ends, I’m dead on my feet. I fall asleepagainst Max’s shoulder on the ferry ride back to Bainbridge and he insists on taking care of dinner. After showers and changing into something other than our workout clothes, Max has a catering tray of tacos and a family sized bag of chips delivered to the house and Elise joins us out on the patio for dinner and a debrief of the road trip. Max cleans up from dinner, leaving me and Elise on the deck, she scoots closer to me on the sofa and leans her head on my shoulder.
“You’re good for him, you know.”
“We’re good for each other,” I reply, wrapping an arm around Elise’s shoulders and leaning my head against hers. “We’ve been gone a lot lately, and I’m worried that you and I haven’t had a lot of time to spend getting to know each other. I hope I didn’t intrude when I moved in.”
“Are you kidding? It’s been great having another woman in the house, and if we haven’t spent time together, that’s on me.” Elise sits up and turns to face me. “I’m a little skittish sometimes, and I recognize that. I’m working on it, getting help for it. I don’t know how much Max has told you, but I didn’t have a great marriage and I have a hard time learning to trust new people. That’s not a reflection on you, though. I love having you around.”
“Next day off, we should spend a day together,” I offer. “I can help set up your classroom, or whatever else you need.”
