Page 11 of Run Home

“Oh, so I just need to clown around with you on the field with all your dumb dance moves and piggyback rides, and suddenly I’ll be at the top of my game?” Carson rolls his eyes. “Give me a break.”

Man, I miss having Griffin at shortstop.

Shaking my head, I stand up and say, “Try to remember why you started playing baseball in the first place. Find the fun again.”

“Sure, thanks, Dad,” Carson says before placing headphones over his ears and closing his eyes.

I walk over to where Drew sits smiling at his phone.

“New photos of little Asher?” I ask, knowing his son is often the cause of Drew’s smiles.

He angles his phone to show me. “Yeah, Lily got some cute ones last night at the game. Look at that face.”

“He’s a future ball player already,” I say, sitting down.

I don’t realize I’m frowning until Drew asks, “What’s wrong?”

Darting a glance at Carson, I talk low. “Just miss West playing at shortstop.”

“Ah,” Drew whispers back. “Yeah, we all miss him. But I think Carson has potential.”

Sighing, I say almost to myself, “It’s not the same. The chemistry. West and I had a direct brain connection when we were out there. Like we could anticipate each other’s throws.”

There’s a smile in Drew’s voice when he says, “Didn’t hurt that Griff always hammed it up with you.”

“Yeah, there’s that,” I agree, grinning. The grin fades, though, as I confess, “I miss playing with my best friend. Even if I’m happy for him that he’s figured out life beyond baseball. It still doesn’t feel like the same game without him.”

Drew exhales a long breath. “I think we got spoiled, having consistency with the infield for so long. It’s not typical in baseball. You and I still have two more years on our contracts, but Powers is up this year. Diaz will renegotiate or get traded the year after. I guess West leaving was the beginning of the end.”

My chest tightens at the truth in Drew’s words. Did I appreciate the Golden Age while I had it? Has the best passed me by already?

Or is there something more—something different—out there that I haven’t experienced yet?

“Guess we’d better make this the best year yet, then,” I say, grinning at Drew. “Champions or bust.”

After checking into my hotel room, I call my dad. He’s only an hour ahead in Venezuela, so I’m hoping he has time to talk this afternoon.

After childhood English lessons plus fourteen years living in the US, I think in English more than in Spanish now—it makes conversation faster than mentally translating everything. But with the anticipation of talking to my dad, I let my thoughts fall back into my mother language.

He answers on the third ring with an enthusiastic “My son, the hero of Venezuela! Nice game last night! Almost as good as the World Championship win for our country!”

Dad has brought up Venezuela’s victory in the World Baseball Classic in just about every conversation since March. Even though I didn’t score the game-winning run, I certainly contributed to the overall score—a fact that brings my father great pride.

“Thanks, Papá,” I say, grinning at his praise. “It was a good one. We’re working hard to get the trophy for the Crowns this year too. That would be my perfect year in baseball.”

“I hope to see it happen,” Dad says. “I believe you can do it.”

“When are you going to come up to visit? I want you to see my new place and show you some options of where you could maybe live,” I say.

Dad has stayed in Venezuela even after I left at age sixteen to come play for the Crowns development team in the US. My mom passed away when I was eight, and Dad took it upon himself to look after her parents as well as his own. But my final living grandparent passed away at the end of last year, meaning there’s no family tying my father to Venezuela anymore. Now that I have my US citizenship, I know I could get a visa approved for Dad to come live here with me.

“Ay, I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it,” Dad says, dismissing my question.

“Come on—surely you could take some time off work to come up at the end of the summer. Maybe in August or September? You could even stay all the way through the World Series in October.” I do my best to tempt him.

“I’ll think about it,” he replies. “I’ll talk to my boss and let you know. Even though nothing could beat watching you lead our homeland to victory.”

I don’t bother to remind him that I wasn’t the captain of the Venezuelan team, or even the MVP. We talk through the highlights of the championship game for the tenth time because I know it brings him joy to relive.