Page 38 of Fair Ball

“So you love it. So you’re comfortable. So, I don’t know, you can give me something to do besides sort candy. And what do you do with all the Skittles anyway?”

“Eat them,” he says, like obviously.

But then Noah walks out to the plate with a bat, and I flap my hands as if Austin’s right in front of me. “Oh, shh, shh. Noah’s up to bat.”

“FaceTime me.”

I hit the button, so he’s on a video call with me, and hold up my phone so he can watch. When Noah swings and misses, I shout, “That’s okay! That’s okay! You got it!”

The second pitch and he misses again.

“Don’t worry about it! You’ll get the next one!”

Then the third pitch, and Noah hits it out to center field. By the time the other team is able to get the ball back to the catcher, two of Noah’s teammates have already scored, and he’s on second base. I jump and cheer and don’t shut up until Noah eventually crosses home plate himself, bringing the score to 9-3, and he’s back on the bench and smiling.

Having almost forgotten about Austin on the video call, I reposition the phone, and he shakes his head when I’m in view on the screen once more. “Wish I had you at my games when I was younger. Could’ve used you screaming your heart out for me.”

“You have me now.”

He nods slowly, his face so close to the screen, I could count the individual hairs that make up his beard. He stares unblinking at me, one blue eye, one brown. “I do have you now.”

“So, back to what I was saying… I want to decorate your condo while you’re away. I’ll hire people to paint and bring in furniture, and by the time you come back from Boston, it’ll be all done.”

He rubs his hand back and forth over his mouth, and even though I can’t hear it now, I love when he does it because the movement makes a pleasant sound. A soft scrape of bristles. “Yeah, sure. I’ll give you my credit card. Whatever you want, Mills. Do whatever you want.”

“Okay,” I agree with a nod, then tell him, “Noah’s back up to pitch again.”

“And I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll stop by after church.”

“Millie Sheehan, a good Catholic girl.” There’s a tremulous twitch of his lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

When we hang up, Mom tilts her head at an angle, folds her hands primly. “Tell me again you can’t think of any reason why he hired you.”

I pocket my phone and shrug. “No idea.”

She makes a disappointed sound. “Oh, Millie.”

“What?”

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough why he hired you.”

CHAPTER 11

AUSTIN

After having landed in Philadelphia, we’re transferring from the charter plane to the bus that will drive us back to the stadium when I notice a voice mail from Malcolm King. I haven’t spoken to him much, and it’s usually done via email, a check-in every once in a while with reminders to be polite in interviews and smile for pictures.

I’ve done neither, but he continues to try to force me. Claiming he can help change my reputation if only I’d put forth a little bit of effort.

The thing is, I don’t give a shit about my reputation. I don’t care what people think of me. If I did, I’d probably be six feet underground by now.

Malcolm’s voice mail is short and to the point. “Hello, Austin. You’ve been presented with an opportunity I’d like to discuss with you at your earliest convenience, and I’d appreciate your calling me back. Hopefully to at least listen before you tell me to fuck off. Thank you.”

Intrigued by an opportunity to tell him to fuck off, I call him back after I’ve boarded the bus, putting my bag on the seat next to me so no one will sit there. After a few rings, Malcolm answers, “Austin, I’m glad you called me back.”

“You asked me to listen before I told you to fuck off, so…”