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We took turns tasting each other’s snowballs. Then the kids were done and threw their cups in the trash.
“My hands are sticky.” Cammie held them out to me.
“I have wipes,” Brooke said, digging around in her purse. She pulled out a small package. “Here you go.”
“Thanks for being prepared.” I should have carried something like that in my car. I usually just offered sanitizer, hoping it would help.
Brooke grimaced. “Yeah, I learned the hard way.”
“I dropped an ice cream cone in the back seat,” Hunter said with a smile.
“Of my car. Now I carry wipes, paper towels, and plastic bags.”
That she was prepared shouldn’t have surprised me. She’d always been responsible and studious. But every detail gave me more knowledge about her personality and what made her tick.
The kids pulled wipes from the package, cleaning their hands.
“You’re cautious.”
She gave me a warning look.
I heeded it because it wasn’t the time or place to delve any deeper, but I needed to spend more time with her to get to know the Brooke she’d become, not the girl from high school. Something must have happened to make her so jaded about relationships. But what?
“We’d better get going,” Brooke said as she stood.
“Oh, man. Can Cammie come over to play video games sometime?” Hunter asked.
“I don’t see why not.” I wondered if it would be a drop-off playdate or if I’d be able to stay and talk to Brooke. Although, I’d probably be dropping Hunter off with Abby. “Although I should probably meet Hunter’s mom first.”
“That can be arranged,” Brooke said with a smile.
Was Brooke’s reticence a result of her sister’s experience with her ex, or was it something more personal to her? Not knowing was driving me crazy. I liked to know what I was dealing with so I could plan and prepare.
We said our goodbyes at the cars, and I knew I needed to create more time for us to spend together, whether it was a playdate or a baseball practice like we’d talked about. I said, “See you soon,” before getting into my car with Cammie.
I wanted Brooke to know I wasn’t giving up.
After dinner and a board game, I told Cammie it was time for her to get ready for bed. I loved being present for her bedtime routine as much as I enjoyed breakfast. For once, she showered, brushed her teeth, and climbed into bed without a fuss.
I grabbed the library book I picked up on the way home. I’d researched the history of women in baseball and found a few books at the local library.
Sitting next to her on the narrow bed, I asked, “You want to hear about the woman who struck out Babe Ruth?”
Her eyes widened. “That player fromThe Sandlot?”
“The Sandlotis a fictional movie, so the characters aren’t real, but Babe Ruth was a real baseball player.”
She took the book to get a closer look.
“Jackie Mitchell struck out some major players back in the day,” I said while she flipped through the pictures.
“Can you read it to me?” Her were eyes still round as she handed it back to me.
I read the story of the seventeen-year-old girl who pitched during The Great Depression. She struck out Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. She walked the third batter and was replaced by a different pitcher, and she was named organized baseball’s first female pitcher and was known for her sinking curveball known as “the drop.”
“I love that,” Cammie said when I read about Jackie’s famous sinker.
When I got to the end, the book mentioned how the baseball commissioner at the time voided Jackie’s contract, saying baseball was too strenuous for women.
