No Tan Lines (30 page)

The Cateses sat on the northern bleachers, and many of the parents gathered along the first-baseline fence. Moms and dads encouraged and inspired their kids during warm-ups.

Shaye climbed up the bleachers, searching for a seat. Word had spread she was involved with Trace Saunders. Most of those in attendance weren’t pleased with her decision. Disapproval hung heavy in the air. The silence spoke loudly. Few could meet her eye. Those who did looked at her as if they no longer knew her.

Her heart squeezed, and her stomach hurt. She felt suddenly alone among the hundreds in attendance. Her legs were shaky by the time she reached the seventh row. No one scooted over and offered her a seat, not until Molly and Violet did so at the very top. Even their smiles were reserved.

Once she was seated, Molly leaned over and whispered, “History runs deep, Shaye. I love and respect you, but I just can’t support your decision when it comes to Trace. None of us can. Sorry.”

Shaye found it difficult to swallow. Her throat felt dry and swollen closed. She wasn’t certain she could even cheer. The fun of the game seemed sucked out of her.

Somehow Trace sensed her sadness from the opposite side of the ball field. He left his family to find her. She caught him jogging up the bleachers as if he couldn’t reach her fast enough. He was well dressed for a kids’ baseball game. He stood out in his green collared polo, navy shorts, and Nikes.

Gazes narrowed, and jaws locked all around her. A few people got up and changed seats. Trace squeezed in beside her. They became joined at the hip.

“Cold shoulder?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Total freeze-out. How about you?” she whispered back.

“I got a hug from Sophie and a high five from Martin but otherwise was ignored.”

Shaye felt as bad for Trace as she did for herself. She offered her support. She laced her fingers with his and held on tightly. He squeezed her hand. He understood. They sat quietly and let the rivalry between their towns play out.

A flip of a coin, and Southern Trust was first to bat. Umpires had been recruited from another county. No partiality would be shown on the field.

The Barefoot William team was physically smaller than their opposition. Only Brick Cates stood out. He’d gone through a major growth spurt. He looked fifteen instead of twelve.

The teams were evenly paired in pitching but not in hitting. Southern Trust deployed only their best players, while the Topaz Tarpon kids rotated with each inning. No one warmed the Barefoot William bench. Even her nephew Jeff, who was not at the same level as his teammates, received equal respect.

Southern Trust loaded the scoreboard with five runs by the end of the first inning. They’d managed four singles and a home run. They walked the walk and talked trash. The Tarpon players ignored them and kept their minds on the game.

Southern Trust pitched six innings of no-hit ball. The Tarpon couldn’t catch a break. Even their young power hitters struck out. It was an ego-bruising walk back to the dugout.

The seventh-inning stretch gave the players a breather. Then the game progressed with intensity. Southern Trust had more skill and talent, but Topaz Tarpon was scrappy.

The Cateses raised their voices when the Tarpon caught a break and started a short rally. The team landed runners on first and second. Jeff was next to bat. Everyone at the park was aware of his limitations and expected little from him. Most important, they didn’t want him to get hurt.

“Easy out,” the first baseman called to the pitcher.

“Maybe not as easy as he thinks,” said Trace. “Jeff’s started strength training, and I watched him stretch before the game. He’s loose and pain-free. Given the right pitch, he has more than a sacrifice bunt in him.”

The Cateses were all on their feet, clapping, stomping, and willing Jeff to do well. The boy looked calm and focused.

The catcher for Southern Trust motioned to the infield to expect a bunt. The players closed the gaps. The pitcher got cocky. He placed a curveball across home plate for a strike. A fastball followed. The pitch clipped the right corner of the plate and forced Jeff to jump back. He stumbled and nearly fell down. Ball one.

Balls two and three were called in succession. The pitcher’s temper lit, and the boy glared at the umpire.

“Bad calls, Mr. Magoo.” The first baseman’s disrespectful jeer drew his team’s laughter.

The pitcher’s face heated with his next windup and follow-through. He released the ball in anger. The pitch went wild.

Jeff saw it coming right for him, as did everyone else at the park. He couldn’t move out of the way fast enough. The fastball slammed him in the hip. Cowhide against bone made for one loud pop.

“Damn, that had to hurt,” Trace muttered.

Shaye felt Jeff’s pain as if it were her own.

The force knocked Jeff down. He sat on the ground, as stunned as everyone in the stands. The umpire called a time-out. Nicole ran from the dugout and reached Jeff first. Kai was close behind.

Nicole was one irate coach. She went toe-to-toe with the Southern Trust coach, demanding he control his players. There’d been no reason for his pitcher to throw like a lunatic.

The Tarpon emptied their dugout and stormed home plate. The kids circled Jeff. They clenched their fists and kicked dirt until the umpire broke them up. The ump called the pitch an accident, which drew boos and hisses from the Cates bleachers.

Jeff pushed to his feet and went on to take his base. The baseline stretched long for him. He had a slight limp and now a bruised hip. Brick Cates was next at bat. The bases were loaded.

“That’s one big kid,” Trace noted.

“He looks like a bully but has the heart of a teddy bear,” said Shaye. “He’ll knock one out of the park for Jeff.”

The pitcher took Brick to full count, three balls and two strikes, before the boy airmailed the ball all the way to the beach. The home run added four runs to the Tarpon score. Jeff pumped his arm when he crossed home. Brick jumped on the bag so hard that he disengaged the anchor. It took the umpire several minutes to reset home plate.

Only one run now separated the teams.

Saunders Shores grew subdued, while Barefoot William went nuts. The Cateses grabbed and hugged one another. Shaye caught an enthusiastic hug before her second cousin realized she had hold of her. Emma quickly let her go.

Throughout the excitement, Trace stood with his arm about her shoulders. He didn’t care who saw them together. They’d gone public. They were a couple. He watched the game with an impartial eye.

Shaye relaxed and got into the spirit of the game. These were her cousins, and she had every right to cheer for them. She made up for lost time. She cupped her hands to her mouth like a megaphone and encouraged them loudly. Kai looked up into the stands and gave her a thumb’s-up.

Kai kept his players in line. They capitalized on their opponents’ mistakes and minimized their own. The youthful batters refrained from reaching for the fence and delivered solid line drives.

The outfield ran and dived for those uncatchable fly balls, which somehow landed in their gloves. Through it all, elbows and chins were scraped. The center fielder sprained his ankle.

Nicole was both nurse and coach. She wrapped the center fielder’s ankle with an Ace bandage, then handed out Band-Aids, even for the tiniest scratch. The players stood before her, small in stature yet with warrior hearts. She made each one feel ten feet tall.

Top of the ninth and the score remained 5-4 in favor of Southern Trust. This was the closet game ever to be played between the towns. Parents, family, and friends sat on the edge of their seats, holding their breath and silently praying.

Jeff played third base in his rotation on defense.

He looked uneasy, positioned a foot off the bag.

Shaye and Trace soon shifted their vantage point. They left the stands and moved to the fence along the third baseline. They picked a spot near Jeff. There, Trace attempted to fire him up. Jeff gave him a nervous smile and nodded. He rubbed his hip, then bent slightly at the waist, ready to attack any ball hit his way.

Three pop-ups came within his range.

Fortunately two went foul.

The third dropped between third and short. The shortstop called for the ball. The shortstop scooped it up and threw to first. The umpire called the runner out. The shortstop gave Jeff a high-five, awarding Jeff equal credit for the play.

Shaye’s chest squeezed as the inning moved in slow motion. Each hit, each catch, seemed to last forever. The Topaz Tarpon finally closed out the inning, holding Southern Trust to a one-run lead.

Jeff was in the final lineup to bat.

Shaye fidgeted until Trace took her hand. “He’ll be fine,” he said. “This is his chance to shine.”

They changed spots once again, moving along the fence, finding room near the Tarpon dugout. They were now in clear view of the action. Nicole’s voice rose, calm and reassuring, as she told each boy he was a superstar. Win or lose, she was incredibly proud of her team.

The boys were pumped and promised her the trophy.

Everyone held their collective breath when the first two batters went down swinging. The pitcher looked smug. He had a strong mound presence for someone so young. The outfielders smirked, only to be caught off guard when the next hitter powered the ball into right field. He landed a double. He took a long lead off second base.

Jeff now crossed to home plate. He appeared decisive, positive, a boy out to prove that, no matter his size or disability, he was worth his place on the team.

He tapped the head of his bat on the bag as if he owned it.

The pitcher curled his lip.

“Third out,” shouted the first baseman.

“Third, third,” resonated from the outfield.

Shaye ignored their chant and crossed her fingers.

“A little faith,” Trace said. “Jeff ’s going to hit.”

She hoped so. The pitcher took him to two strikes, and the Saunders bleachers began to empty. They believed the game was over.

They were wrong.

“Shoulders—keep them even,” Trace said under his breath as he clutched the fence.

Jeff batted right. Shaye knew her nephew’s scoliosis raised his left shoulder slightly higher than his right. That was to his disadvantage. She watched as Jeff drew in a deep breath, shelved his pain, and by the grace of God lifted his right arm. The new slant to his stance was suddenly as solid as any normal kid’s.

She saw Trace smile, and her heart warmed.

He’d given Jeff a chance to hit.

The pitcher threw a fastball for ball one, then followed with a changeup. The unexpected off-speed pitch sailed waist-high across the plate. Another batter would’ve taken it as ball two. Not Jeff. It was the perfect height for him.

“Now!” shouted Trace, willing the boy to swing.

Bat and ball connected, and Jeff knocked the ball just over the pitcher’s head. The shortstop botched the catch, and the runner advanced to third. Jeff pushed himself and reached first base safely. It was the longest sixty feet he’d ever jogged.

The Topaz Tarpon were at two outs with a runner on third, within scoring distance.

The cheering grew so loud, it could be heard in the next county, possibly all the way to the state capital.

Brick Cates stood just off home plate and took a practice swing. Shaye overheard Kai instruct the young slugger to be smart, to wait for his pitch, and not to reach for any ball.

The Tarpon’s fastest runner was on third. A solid single from Brick, and the kid would score. The game would then be tied. A tie would be spectacular. Barefoot William would rejoice for a year.

A win against a team literally out of their league would be cause for a parade, maybe even fireworks.

The game sat on Brick’s shoulders, and fortunately they were wide. He took his time, finally smacking a fastball into left. The outfielder reacted quickly and relayed the ball to third. There was no point in firing the ball home. The runner had already crossed the plate.

The scoreboard numbers flipped, reflecting a 5–5 tie.

The third baseman spotted Jeff sneaking into second. He fired the ball, expecting Jeff to be tagged out. Jeff refused to go down easily. He turned back toward first and suddenly faced a rundown.

Three infielders came after him, including the pitcher. Jeff ran forward, backward, then hopped aside. He didn’t stand a chance, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

The ball was passed a dozen times before the pitcher ended the taunting series of exchanges. He rushed Jeff, and, instead of a sportsman’s tag, he shoved him. Hard. Jeff flew into the first baseman, who then collided with the shortstop. They all hit the ground, a sprawl of arms and legs.

Two of the three players rose.

One boy spat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d taken a mouthful of dirt.

The other held his arm close to his body.

Jeff remained flat on his back.

A shocked silence hovered over the field.

Shaye grabbed hold of Trace’s arm. “Is he okay?”

He strained to see. “I can’t tell,” he said. “He’s lying still.”

The Southern Trust team stepped back when the umpires, coaches, and Tarpon players crossed the field and gathered close.

“Go see what’s going on,” Shaye said. “Jump the fence—it’s quicker.”

Trace didn’t hesitate. He cleared it in a second.

Concern pressed in the center of her chest, and she could barely catch her breath. Jeff was special. She’d vowed to somehow find the money to help pay for the corrective surgery to his spine. His parents didn’t have health insurance and had put it off too long.

She clutched the fence so hard that the metal wire left an imprint on her palms. Jeff was slow to rise. Trace and Kai helped him up. The boy favored one ankle. He was unable to put any weight on his right foot.

Shaye was certain the ankle was broken.

She heard sirens in the distance and was relieved when an ambulance parked near the Topaz Tarpon dugout. Two paramedics carrying a stretcher crossed the field.

Jeff refused their assistance.

He said something to Kai, Trace, and the home plate umpire that didn’t carry to Shaye. A debate followed. The umpire turned to the Southern Trust players and asked several questions. Ones Shaye still couldn’t hear. She grew more and more frustrated.