Home Run: A Novel (11 page)

Emma responded with a timid “Yeah,” but her eyes weren’t on his anymore. She was nervous, just like she’d been that first time he came up to her in the hallway. The pretty cheerleader who didn’t think she was as pretty as the other girls.

You haven’t changed a bit. You’ve only grown more—

But he stopped that train of thought quickly. He dipped his head down so he’d catch her glance again.

“Hey, that is so cool of you to come out here today,” he said.

“I’m actually the Bulldogs’ other coach.”

Hence her T-shirt and cap, you moron.

Cory looked at her and laughed. He had to laugh because this was too much to take in.

“You? Seriously? Come on.”

His lighthearted Cory Brandish mode of talking was quickly reigned in as Emma grew serious.

“Yeah. Listen. I know you’re caught up in some kind of PR mess, but let’s be real—”

Cory wiped his brow as he glanced around, making sure nobody could hear their conversation.

“The parents are never gonna go for you coaching their kids,” Emma continued. “These are salt-of-the-earth people, and you’re … pretty much a wild-child felon to them.”

For a moment he looked at her in disbelief. The smile filling his face was genuine, and genuinely amused.

You think I don’t know the kind of people living around here?

She thought she had him all figured out. Which was fine.

Suddenly he liked the idea of coaching this team.

He liked it a lot.

“Well, wild-child felon or not, the Bulldogs are out one coach.”

Emma took a deep breath. “Yeah, but we don’t need you.”

A couple of fathers approached them, so Emma finished quickly. “Here comes the truth. They probably have a volunteer all picked out, and then you can be on your way.”

Cory was about to say more, but one of the fathers/fans/freaks forced a handshake and a smile on him before he could respond.

“Dan Stanton,” said the man with the round face and rounder bald head. “I own the hardware store and gas station. Welcome home, Cory.”

Of course you own the hardware store and gas station.
If Cory was to picture someone who owned a hardware store and a gas station in Okmulgee, it would be this guy.

“Thank you very much,” Cory said, avoiding the wisecracks going off in his head.

“Greg Kendricks,” the other guy said, shaking his hand. “Honor to meet you. Thrill to have you here. You’re a dream come true to these kids.”

“Not to mention us dads. If you need anything at all, feel free to call the store.”

Cory smiled and glanced at Emma.

I win. I always win.

Emma didn’t say anything, but stepped away from the chattering fans as she looked to see what the kids were doing. She escaped the man-love and went over to where Karen was standing on the side of the field.

“Unbelievable,” Emma uttered.

Karen could only give her a knowing smile. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“You’d think those guys would have a little better sense.”

The two women began walking toward the group of kids, who were finishing their lap. The team really was an odd assortment of misfits and lovable losers. A team that seemed destined for someone like Cory Brand to coach.

There was Tyler, by far the best player, following in his genetic father’s footsteps. Carlos had energy and enthusiasm for the game, but he also had a lot to learn.

She scanned the others. There was Stanton’s boy, Mark, whom everybody just called by his last name. Stanton was a cynical kid who acted a little too cool for anything. He was talking to Wick, whose real name was Theodore Washington. The kid was a walking encyclopedia whose ready stock of minutiae had earned him his nickname. Near them was a redheaded, freckled-faced kid named Wellsey, who was lost in his own world.

One of the best players on the team, Kendricks, was a lanky eleven-year-old with a wicked submarine slider. This kid’s biggest problem was the one being demonstrated this very moment—complaining about having to run. Kendricks hated practicing but liked playing the game.

And yeah, Kendricks was a girl. The only girl on the team and definitely the only player with french braids.

Clay and Emma had made a good team of coaches, though their styles differed greatly. Clay was all about technical head knowledge—educating the kids on how to hit and slide and catch and throw. Sometimes he forgot that baseball had to be played from the heart.

Cory knows this better than anybody.

It surprised her when she heard his voice calling out behind her.

“You ready to get started, Coach?”

Emma turned and forced her tough game face on again, giving him a nod and leading him toward the infield. She knew she’d have to be honest with Cory. Brutally honest. Hurting his feelings wasn’t something she needed to worry about.

I doubt I could hurt his feelings if I really tried.

“Look, these kids will like you, and you will leave them. So keep your distance.” She looked ahead of them. “Third base is yours. That’s your only responsibility.”

Suddenly a brown-haired, blue-eyed bundle of energy burst between the two of them.

“Mom? It’s so hot. Can we do something else?”

This was the moment she had been fearing, an inevitable moment that had taken only ten years to happen.

Coach Straubel looks at him with grim eyes and an expression even more serious than usual. The door is shut, and Cory sits there knowing why he’s been summoned but wondering what’s going to happen.

“Look, I’m not going to make this long. I’ve made this speech before. Some listen to me and some don’t; that’s life. But the difference is that I’ve never had this sort of talk with someone like you, Cory. Never. So don’t smile or play the victim or any of that. Just listen.”

Cory nods.

“You got a gift. I know you know it too. Everybody knows it. But you have to realize—you only have a certain amount of time. I know—I know.”

“It was a stupid bar fight involving some idiotic—”

“I’m not talking about the brawl. I’m talking about you. A guy who’s wasting his talent away.”

Cory listens. This is not his father berating him, telling him to stop dreaming. This is Coach Straubel telling him to wise up.

“Listen, Cory. God gives some people certain abilities, and He sure gave you one. To hit home runs. So remember that, okay? Wake up thinking about it, and go to bed thinking about it. Because that talent can take you places if you let it. If you don’t waste it away being a typical college student.”

The coach doesn’t say any more.

For Cory, he’s already said enough.

Chapter Fifteen

ChangeUp

You can try to outrun and outmaneuver your past, but eventually it’s going to catch up to you and tag you out.

Cory was learning this the hard way.

He stood there looking at a kid who was still just a baby in his mind. The ten-year-old was tall and strong and looked like a nice kid. A real nice kid.

Nothing like his father.

“Tyler,” Emma began, lost for words in the face of Tyler’s sudden appearance. “You can’t just walk over here. You’re interrupting.”

“It’s just so hot.”

As the boy glanced his way, Cory found himself at a loss for words too. It wasn’t that Tyler was a surprise. He’d been a surprise ten years ago, a big one. But since that time, the surprise had lessened with each fading sunset.

Now the sun had just risen right in front of his face, and it was standing there burning his eyes.

The boy stuck his hand out. “Hi. I’m Tyler.”

Yes, you are.

Cory shook the hand, noting the firm grip. Tyler didn’t just look cute but appeared well trained.

Look at his mommy.

He glanced at Emma, who was watching the scene with an expression he didn’t want to read.

“Hey, man,” Cory said, ignoring her. “Cory Brand.”

“Tyler,” Emma yelled. “Get back out with the rest of the team.”

Tyler smiled and ran off to the outfield. As he ran, Cory felt a strange sense of déjà vu. He knew he hadn’t played this field before, but somehow it still reminded him of being that age and playing Little League.

He looks just like you. That’s why, you idiot. He smiles and runs and breathes just like his father.

The reality was a lot to take in.

For a moment it seemed that it was too much for Emma to take in as well. So many days and months and years, and now the two of them stood in matching red Bulldogs shirts and caps, looking like an ordinary American couple ready to coach an ordinary American Little League team.

But nothing about this was ordinary.

Cory’s head felt a strange buzz that had nothing to do with liquor. He turned to face her. “Hey, Em—”

Her eyes grew thin, and her voice was barely audible but forceful nonetheless. “I’m begging you, Cory. Please.
Please
keep your distance.”

She stared him down, and Cory knew that the Emma he remembered was still there. Not the Emma who fell in love with him, but the Emma he fell in love with. The intense and strong and careful and safe Emma Johnson who now was staking her ground.

She waited for him to say something, anything, but Cory couldn’t speak.

He still wasn’t sure what to say.

“Third base,” she said, speaking to him in the same tone she had used with Tyler.

Cory went toward the base, thankful to have somewhere to go and something to do.

Thank goodness Emma didn’t expect anything more from him, because he wasn’t capable of much coaching this afternoon. Not after that.

The rest of the afternoon and evening played out in slow motion like some sad country song. Eventually the practice was over, and Emma finished up with the kids without saying another word to him. Cory found himself locked into conversations with more parents, including a big-haired blonde who might have proposed to him if he hadn’t excused himself. He saw the kids shuffling out and piling into cars to go home with their parents.

Before getting into his rented pickup, Cory glanced out to the field where Tyler was walking with Emma.

It was a beautiful picture, the mother and son walking like that after baseball practice.

Both of them were so beautiful.

And you left them and didn’t think twice.

Driving home under one of those endless ceilings of streaked blue brilliance, the sun finally drifting off, Cory tried to get rid of the whirlwind going on in his head by playing the radio. Unfortunately, the two stations that came through didn’t provide any relief.

When he got back to his motel, the emptiness of his room depressed him. He felt like a prisoner.

You made your choice ten years ago, and it wasn’t to walk off into the sunset with those two people.

His choice had led him to this unfortunate place.

The bed squeaked as he sat on it, the bedbugs surely waking up and wondering who was visiting them tonight.

His mouth was dry. He stood back up and tossed his cap onto the table across the room, then opened the mini-fridge. It was fully stocked and ready to rock.

He opened the bottle of vodka and took a wallop of a shot, the kind more suitable for a beer, then filled a glass and found some ice cubes. It didn’t take long to drain the glass again.

Cory breathed in. Took another drink. Began to calm down.

Then it dawned on him that in another hour or so he’d have to show up at one of those Praise Jesus for Sobriety meetings or whatever they were called.

He needed
a lot
more to drink before he could endure one of those things.

She tells him the news as they sit in darkness by the side of the barn, underneath a sky full of brilliant speckles. Cory holds her hand but looks up and away, lost for a moment.

“I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, looking back at Emma and then squeezing her hands. “It’s going to be fine.”

He doesn’t know what else to say or how to react.

Of all the things she could have told him, this wasn’t something he could have imagined.

“Have you told anybody else?” he asks.

“No.”

He looks out and sees the hulking outline of the barn behind him. He suddenly sees himself never leaving this place, stuck living in a hollowed-out shell of crushed dreams and empty promises like someone else he knows too well.

“Cory—I don’t want—I know what you’re thinking, and this—it doesn’t have to change things—”

“I know,” he says, still holding her hands, now looking at her again. “We’ll figure it out, okay? It’s gonna be fine.”

As he hugs her, Emma starts to cry.

They’re twenty-two years old, and up until this night the future looked a lot like the heavens above. Now it looks and feels a little more like the old structure next to them.

Cory holds Emma. He can’t picture himself as a father, or picture the two of them as parents. Ten years from now, sure, maybe. But not now, not when everything is happening, not when life is working out exactly the way he wanted it to.

For the first time in a long time, he feels fear sinking back into his soul.