In the Outfield
In the Outfield
By Sara Maurer
Beth opened the liftgate on her Suburban and the sight of the cargo area pleased her: bottled water stacked on top of Gatorade, the Yeti snug against the overnight bags, her umbrella and camping chair wedged between the cooler and wall. On top of the cooler, a container of no-bake cookies, and on top of that, a clutch of unspotted bananas.
She hefted out the cooler, slung the camping chair over her shoulder, and made her way to the outfield fence where Angie was already sitting, her feet propped against the chain link. Their routine had been the same all summer long: take Friday off work, drive the boys to the tournament, get tipsy in the outfield. Repeat Saturday. Repeat Sunday. Every summer since the boys’ Little League days had passed in this way. Sometimes their husbands joined them, sometimes they didn’t, but Beth and Angie were always there, knowing that if their boys looked out to the fence, they’d see their mothers there.
It was close to noon: game time. An early chance of rain had moved on and Beth stretched out her arms in front of her. “It’s going to get hot now.”
“Good,” Angie said. “I’ve lost almost all my color.” She opened her cooler and scooped loose ice into a tumbler, added Tito’s, a slice of lemon, which she had precut at home and stored in a Ziploc bag, and topped it off with water.
Beth opened her own cooler and slid a Long Drink into a koozie. “Have you tried these yet? My new favorite.”
Angie reached for the baby blue can. Her eyes opened wide. “Oh, yum.”
“Take that one. I have a ton.”
“Look at me. Double fisting already.”
“Atta girl.”
Angie took a scorebook out of her bag, a large notebook with page after page of columns and rows for keeping game stats. She started filling in the batting order.
“It’s so good how you do that,” Beth said.
“What, this? Oh, Josh just likes to look it over after the game. See how he did.”
“Aiden would probably like it if I did that, too,” Beth said. “I should learn. Looks hard.”
“Nah, it’s easy.”
Beth watched her for a while, how she double-checked the spelling of each player’s name, wrote down who the subs and pitchers were, the team names, the date, even the name of the field.
“You know what?” Beth said. “You’re a good mom.”
“Oh, I’ve just always done this.”
“No, really,” Beth said. “You are. A lot of moms don’t even come to the games, especially at this age. I hope Josh appreciates it.”
“Well, he doesn’t say it, but—” Angie’s voice trailed off.
“But you know it.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Beth picked up her phone and scrolled a while, every now and then lifting the Long Drink from the cupholder in her chair, taking a sip, and setting it down again. The sun had burned off the clouds and she squinted into the screen. “Kelly Farren travels more than any person I know,” she said.
“There’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. Where is she?”
“Boston,” Beth said. “Again.”
What’s in Boston?”
“She’s getting her PhD.”
“Wow. Good for her, I guess.”
“For sure, but this is what I don’t get: If you’re not going anywhere, why get this big degree? You know what I mean? We live in the Upper Peninsula. She works at this rinky-dink hospital. It’s not like she’s going to get this big promotion or anything.”
“What’s the PhD in?” Angie asked. The boys were on the field warming up. The balls made sharp, satisfying smacks when the mitts closed around them.
“Healthcare admin or something like that. But that’s another thing! The hospital already has leadership. What is she doing it for?”
“Is that what she wants? To run the hospital?”
Beth raised her eyebrows. “Who knows. She already runs that whole program there. You know, the job placement program for the kids with disabilities.”
“The Journey Project? That’s a great program.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. It’s an awesome program. Kelly gets them trained and places them with jobs. My friend’s son went through it, and he’s got his little job and he’s doing great. She’s a great person. We went to high school together. It’s not that. I just don’t understand: Why do it if you don’t need it? If you’re not getting anything out of it?”
“I always liked Kelly,” Angie said.
“Oh, definitely. Me too. I’ve known her forever. Like I said, we graduated together.”
Angie started writing again, then stopped. “Didn’t Kelly work at the elementary school when the boys were there? She sometimes helped with reading.”
“Yes, but she told me it wasn’t challenging enough, so she decided to move on to the hospital. Now she’s running that whole program and I guess it’s still not enough.”
“But she was very good while she was at the school, very dedicated. She’s the one who got Josh the reading help.”
“Oh, I’m not saying she’s not dedicated. I’m not saying she’s not a good person. Not at all. I’m just asking, why do you need a PhD to run a program at the county hospital when it’s not even going to get you a better job or more money, you know?”
Beth picked up her phone again and began to scroll. “Looks like her husband’s out there with her. Of course, she has to post about it. They make a trip out of it. She has to go out there every six months and he goes with her. It’s like a whole week’s vacation every six months.”
Angie sipped her Tito’s thoughtfully. “That’d be kind of nice though. Tom and I never do anything.”
“Because we’re at the field every weekend! Not that I’d want to be anywhere else, I’m just saying. Besides, she doesn’t even enjoy it. It totally stresses her out. All this school and work and travel. She’s stressed out all the time. And what is she getting out of it? I mean, it’s got to be expensive. I don’t know how they afford it.”
“School’s expensive,” Angie said.
“It’d be different if you were guaranteed a promotion or something,” Beth said. She took a long drink of her Long Drink, swallowing hard, twice, before putting the can down. “And the hospital is so small, I doubt it does tuition reimbursement. And you want to know what the worst part about it is?”
Angie looked up from the scorebook. “What?”
“Her son.”
“What about her son?”
Beth waved her hands in front of her face, as though to erase the words. “Never mind. Forget I even said that. I shouldn’t have. Anyway, the game’s about to start.”
“No, right. Of course,” Angie said. She recorded the official game start time in the scorebook.
Their boys jogged onto the field. Tall, quick-footed boys. Almost men. Their plucky teenage biceps shone in the sun. Both were outfielders, Aiden in left field, Josh in center, which was why Beth and Angie sat where they did. It was important for the boys to know they were there rooting them on. That and, behind the outfield fence, no one made a fuss about the coolers. In the moments before the first pitch, Beth slid a new Long Drink into her koozie, and Angie freshened her Tito’s.
Beth sank back in her chair and dropped her sunglasses over her eyes. She smiled over at Angie. “See? We could be in Boston right now, but would you want to miss a single minute of this? They’re only kids once.”
“Exactly,” Angie said. She recorded the first few pitches. A ball, a strike swinging, another ball.
“Be ready out there, Aiden,” Beth called. If he heard her, he didn’t let on.
The pitcher threw another strike and Angie recorded it. “So, you’ve known Kelly a long time, then?”
“Oh, God yes. Since we were 12. I wasn’t trying to talk bad about her. I hope you don’t think that. The Journey Project is great. It’s just that everyone thinks she’s this really great person—and I do, too, in some ways—but when you look at what kind of mom she is—” Beth shook her head. “It’s sad.”
“But she has such a positive impact on all those Journey Project kids!” Angie tipped back her Tito’s. She missed the next pitch, a strikeout, and didn’t bother to record it.
“Oh, everyone thinks she’s so amazing, and dedicated, like you said, but they don’t know the full story. Not like I do. I know her mom, her whole family. I’ve known them forever.”
“You must be close.”
Beth sat up. “Well, we were, but—I feel bad talking about people.”
“Oh, totally.”
Angie lifted her pencil, ready to start recording again. “Was that a strikeout looking or swinging?”
“Looking,” Beth said. And then, “But her son, well, you know he has a disability, too, right?”
“No! I didn’t know that!”
“Severe. Absolutely sweet kid though. He’s the reason she got into her line of work in the first place. But here she is, working and working, moving from one job to the next, going all over the country for this Ph.D. that she doesn’t even need, taking her husband with her and making trips out of it, sightseeing and all that, and who do you think is taking care of their son while they’re gone?”
Angie set her pencil down and closed the scorebook. “He’s not left on his own, is he?”
“Her mother! Her poor mother who’s got to be, what, in her seventies? Taking care of that boy who’s just as big as ours, maybe bigger. She has to move into Kelly’s house for the week to keep an eye on him. Make his meals. Clean up after him, and God knows what else. I’m not even sure he can use the bathroom without help. Can you imagine? And Kelly tells me that taking care of that boy is what keeps her mother going. As if her mother has no other reason for living than taking care of that boy. All so that someday everyone has to call her Dr. Farren.”
“I had no idea!” Angie said. She sat quietly for a moment, eyes drifting slowly over the outfield, her tumbler drooping in her hand. “I always liked Kelly,” she said.
“Well, now you know the full story. And I’m not out to turn people against her, it’s just hard knowing what I know when everyone thinks she’s so great. We were in the same work co-op program in high school, you know. We had classes in the morning and then worked at the real estate office in the afternoon. She was always bumming rides from me. Not many people have known her as long as me. Wait, did you want another one of these?”
Beth dug a Long Drink out of her cooler and held it out to Angie, dripping and cold in the afternoon light.
Angie took it and drank. Her eyes hovered on the gold cuff around Beth’s wrist. “That’s beautiful,” she said, turning Beth’s wrist to examine it. “Is it new?”
“Oh, thanks,” Beth said, smiling down at the interlocking yellow bands. “I just hit 25 years at the real estate office. Can you believe it? I practically run that place now.”
“Oh wow,” Angie said. “Twenty-five years. Congrats.”
“Thanks.” She slipped off the cuff to read the engraving. “It says, ‘With many thanks.’”
“Good for you,” Angie said.
Just then, a crack exploded from the batter’s box and the other team’s parents stood in the stands and cheered, watching as the ball soared wide and weightless, like a kite caught in a perfect current of air.
Aiden studied the path of the ball, feet already in motion, shuffling toward his mother, then running, flying.
“Fence!” Josh shouted. “Fence!”
Beth watched Aiden come to her, the beauty of his movement as his body responded to the lightning calculations of his brain. He leaped against the fence, a long backward stretch, almost in her lap, closed his mitt around the ball, and held it.
“Yes, Aiden!” Beth screamed. She had stopped breathing, and now she kicked at the fence, rattling it, splashing her drink on her thigh. Then she was on her feet, hopping like a child, and Angie hopped with her. They clapped hands and patted Aiden’s back and head.
“Let’s go!” Beth shouted. “Let’s go!”
With easy movements, almost lazy, Aiden tossed the ball to the shortstop and trotted back to his position. But then he turned back to Beth and waved. His smile was big and white, a little bashful. The sunlight had turned long and gold, drenching everything in beauty, and Beth stood completely still, her breath coming back to her at last. I am here and I am thankful, she thought. I am so thankful.
Sara Maurer lives and writes in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. You can find her at www.saramaurerwrites.com.
Andy Lattimer is a gay guy who lives in Southern California. He makes comics, most of which are about baseball. You can read them on his website, andylattimer.com
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