“Mom, look what I found at the baseball field,” Eddie said, when he found his mom in the backyard, standing over a basket full of wet clothes, “a drunk baseball glove.”
“Eddie!”
“It’s drunk. It forgets things, just like Dad!” Eddie pointed to the back of the glove’s pocket at the faded blue ink. “It can’t tell me where it lives; it forgot.” He stuck his nose into the pocket of the glove and sniffed loudly. “It smells like Dad’s breath when you wouldn’t let him kiss—”
“Eddie! What kind of talk is that?”
Eddie spoke with the authority of a boy whose mom took him to see a counselor every Tuesday. “I’m not supposed to hide things inside my head anymore.”
“Why did you bring that old thing home? I gave you…your dad gave you a new one for your birthday.” Janet gave Eddie his new glove last week on his eighth birthday, a present she said was from his dad to ease the pain of his not showing up for Eddie’s party.
“You gave it to me, Mom. It was my best present! But that’s my glove. Dad doesn’t have one. Now he will.” Eddie jabbed his hand into the pocket of the ragged glove. Even a lazy pop fly would sting if snagged with this mitt.
Janet dug her hand into the clothesbasket and pulled out a pair of Eddie’s underwear, squatted down like a catcher, and picked some clothespins out of a half-gallon ice cream bucket. She pinned the underwear to the line she’d strung across the deck. She cursed Ken, his late child support checks, the dryer that made a high pitched squeal when it ran but left the clothes wet. The sheets on the line snapped in the wind like the crack of a whip. His mom squeezed his shoulder. Lie or tell the truth? “I paid for it, but your dad will pay me back.”
“Maybe Dad’ll like playing catch with me and buy himself a new glove, too.” Eddie smacked his fist into the pocket of the old mitt. “Maybe Dad doesn’t want to play catch with me because he doesn’t have a glove.”
Eddie swiveled his head back and forth. He clutched his birthday glove in his right hand and his found mitt in his left one. He swung his arms impatiently. The gloves slapped against each other.
Eddie’s mom ran her fingers through the sun-bleached hair that capped Eddie’s blue eyes and the smattering of freckles that looked as if they’d rolled off his nose and come to rest above his mouth. She leaned against the base of the Bob Gibson statue outside Werner Park. She hoped Ken was running late and not pulling a no show. His habit was to do one or the other. Janet twisted her wrist to peek at her watch. “He’s fifteen minutes late, Eddie. Maybe I should get tickets.”
Eddie sighed, sniffled. “Why is Dad always a big fat liar?”
Three nights ago, after Janet called Ken, she handed the phone to Eddie.
“Your mom says you want me to take you to a game this weekend,” Ken said, “since I had to work late on your birthday.”
“Yeah! Will you take me, Dad?”
“I don’t know. It’s Saturday night.”
“You gotta work?”
“Uh, no.”
“I saw it on TV,” Eddie said. “It’s buck beer night.”
*. *. *
Eddie spotted him first. “He’s here!” His dad, white-skinned from hours working inside the factory and sitting in bars, shuffled toward him with his head down and his hands jammed into the sides of his pockets. He wore a white undershirt with a spot of grease smeared across the chest. A pack of cigarettes was bundled into the left shirtsleeve. “Dad, look what I got you!” Eddie held the battered glove out to his dad.
“That’s nice, Eddie.” Ken reached out and tried to grab hold of Janet’s hand. “You joining us?”
She yanked her hand free. “You’re twenty minutes late!”
“The game starts at 7:05, so I’m five minutes early. He gestured with the tickets he clutched in his hairy left hand. “I bought three box seats.”
“We agreed to meet at six-forty.” She stabbed the air with her index finger. “You’re twenty minutes late. Not five minutes early.”
“Mom, I wanta see the game.”
“In a second. Remember to bring Eddie to the Gibson statue after the game. If it runs long, we’ll meet here at ten sharp.”
“I’ll drive him home?”
She leaned in close to Ken, talked in a terse whisper. “No you won’t. I want him home safe and sound.”
Ken pulled his pack of Marlboros out of his shirtsleeve and lit up a cigarette. He sucked in a long drag, held the smoke in his lungs, and blew out a cloud that hovered above Eddie’s head. “I have a driver’s license. Matter of fact, I used to drive you a few places. You’re still here.”
“You can’t smoke here.” She shifted so her back was to Eddie. “Did you bring a check? You said you’d bring one. You’re three months behind, and I need a new dryer.”
“You can use the dryer in my apartment.”
“I’m not going into your apartment.”
The anthem ended and a loud round of applause erupted. Eddie turned his head toward the smell of hot dogs, brats, and beer that drifted through the chain-link fence. “Mom!”
“All right. You two get going. Remember, at the statue.”
Eddie’s dad sucked in one last time on the cigarette and then flicked it onto the sidewalk. “Let’s go, Son.”
Janet kissed Eddie on the cheek. “Have fun.”
“Bye, Mom.”
She held onto Eddie’s shoulder and stared at Ken. “At the statue!”
‘He’ll be there.”
After they disappeared, Janet went to her car, pulled out a lawn chair, and carried it back to the base of the statue. She sat down, pulled out the new Louise Penny novel, turned to the first page, read, waited.
*. *. *
“Thanks for my birthday present.” Eddie thrust his birthday glove out like a first baseman giving a target for the shortstop. “It’s from you if you pay Mom.” He held the ragged glove under his right armpit.
“What’d it cost?”
“I don’t know. Mom knows.”
Ken pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “Here’s twenty bucks. Give it to your mom.”
“Can I buy a baseball?” Eddie asked. The gift shop was to their right. A rack of Storm Chasers jerseys with the tornado symbol on them hung outside the store, and reduced price caps and t-shirts filled a table. A lady with Chasers Staff embroidered on her blue polo monitored the clearance sale outside the shop.
“Sure. That can be a birthday gift from your mom. I’m goin’ to get a beer. I’ll meet you back here.”
“Mom got me a bat, Legos, a Megatron transformer, and a Mike Trout t-shirt.”
“Well, she’s getting you a ball, too.”
“I want to buy a baseball,” Eddie said to the salesgirl.
“They’re in the store. What’s your name?”
“Eddie.”
“All right, Eddie, I’ll show you where they’re at.” She led him inside and showed him regular baseballs and ones with a photo on them of Stormy, the team mascot. “When you pick out a ball, pay Tom at the register.” She pointed to a boy with long red hair. He tipped the bill of his Storm Chasers cap at Eddie.
Five minutes later, Eddie stepped outside the gift shop with a ball in the pocket of his glove. “Bye, Eddie,” the girl said.
Eddie didn’t see his dad. He walked over to the chain link fence. Outside the ballpark, a man and a boy played catch on the sidewalk. The boy closed the pocket of his glove too soon, and the ball fell to the ground. “Nice try, Son.” The dad held up his glove for the boy to aim for. The boy eyed the target with the intensity of a major league pitcher. His dad caught the throw, and the boy shagged the return toss. The ball travelled between them in an arc that connected them as one.
Eddie dropped the tattered glove so he could toss the ball up in the air and shag it with his glove. After three throws, he switched gloves and caught a few throws with the old glove.
“Eddie, let’s go to our seats!” Ken carried a tray with four glasses filled with beer.
Out on the field, the Storm Chaser’s pitcher wound up, kicked his front foot high into the air, and fired the ball toward the plate. The batter swung and missed. The sound of the ball popping into the catcher’s mitt echoed throughout the ballpark.
“He throws a blur ball!” Ken gestured with his half empty cup toward the diamond. The movement caused a tidal wave of beer to leap over the edge of the cup and splash onto Eddie’s arm and his birthday glove.
“Dad!”
“That won’t hurt it any.” He examined the glove for the first time. “It’s going to get dirty anyway.” He pointed at the old glove on Eddie’s lap. “Sooner or later, your glove will look like that one anyway.” He tilted his head back and chugged down a beer. “So what’s your mom been up to? You see any men around the house?”
“No.”
Ken dropped the cup on the cement and reached down between his legs to lift a second beer out of the slot in the cardboard tray. “You tell me if you do.”
“Peanuts! Peanuts!” The vendor waved a bag above his head as he walked up the aisle.
“Eddie, you want some peanuts?” Ken dug out his wallet. “Dad’s buying these.” He placed a wad of wet wrinkled bills into Eddie’s hand.
The batter fouled the next pitch straight back. Eddie reached up into the air with his glove. The ball seemed to start its descent right above him, but the net that extended from the backstop to the announcer’s box caught the ball. The ball bounced down the net like a caught fish and landed back on the field.
“You plan to wear a glove on each hand?” His dad finished off the second cup of beer and smashed it under his foot. “Why do you have two gloves?”
“I told you! This one’s for you.” Eddie held the old glove out to his dad.
Ken pulled the last two beers out of the tray. “My hands are full.”
Eddie placed the glove on his Dad’s lap. Out on the grass berm beyond the outfield, kids played catch. “Can we go out there?”
“Son, do you know what a sale is?”
“Yeah, Mom bought me a backpack on sale.”
“Well, tonight there’s a beer sale. You only need one backpack. But I need more than one beer, so I gotta keep buying, keep drinking. We can toss a ball around some other time.”
YMCA blared over the sound system. Eddie made the letters with his hands. His dad yelled out, “Y-C-A!”
Eddie spotted a small hole in the net above them. He imagined a ball falling through the hole and landing in his glove. He pounded his fist into the pocket of his glove. “This is the ball call. It’ll make a baseball fly to my glove. See, look at the third baseman. He’s doing it, too!”
The old glove fell off his dad’s lap.
Eddie picked it up. “Try it on, Dad. “I’ll hold your beers. Please!”
Ken took two long drinks and finished off the third cup of beer. “There, I made it easier for you, but be careful. These cups are slippery.”
Eddie put his birthday glove on the seat next to him and extended his hands out. “You know, your grandpa gave me sips of his beer when I was your age.
Grandma never knew. It was our secret.”
Eddie grasped the cup carefully with both hands.
“Do you know what a secret is?” Ken asked.
“Yeah. You don’t tell anyone.” Eddie grinned with pride.
“Boys and dads have secrets. You wanta have a secret with your dad?”
“Sure!”
“You can’t tell anyone. Promise?”
“Promise!” Eddie tilted the cup, stuck his nose inside, inhaled the scent of beer. He shuddered.
His dad put two fingers on the rim and pressed down. “Someday we’ll drink beer together. But not today. Got to wait until you grow hair on your balls.” He laughed. “Eddie the beer-nosed boy.” He wiped the smudge of beer foam off Eddie’s nose. He took the cup from Eddie, wedged it into the pocket of the battered mitt. “Your dad’s going to come back home. Not today. But soon.”
“Okay.”
“Dad’s got a plan. But it’s our secret. You can’t tell anyone.”
“Not Mom?”
“No, especially not your mom. This is a dad/son secret. Got it.”
“Got it!” Eddie cracked a long peanut shell between his fingers. He rubbed the brown skin off and popped the two peanuts into his mouth. “You want a peanut, Dad?”
Ken cracked one open. “Watch this, Eddie.” He tossed the peanut high in the air and opened his mouth, but the peanut went over their heads and bounced off a seat three rows behind them. Eddie giggled. “Your ol’ dad’s a fun guy, ain’t he? Your mom used to think so, too.”
“I’ll throw one.” Eddie three a peanut straight up into the air.
His dad lifted his cup, extended his arm. The peanut splashed into his beer. “Beer and peanuts. Now that’s having fun at a ballgame.” Ken finished off the beer and dropped the cup in the aisle.
Eddie punched his fist into the pocket of his glove. Put on the glove, Dad. “Call a ball. Give the ball call!”
“That’s the beer call, Son, not the ball call. I’ve already caught a few, and I’m going to catch four more in a minute!” Ken laughed like he’d made a joke worthy of Chappelle. “Why don’t they have a buck beer vendor? They only sell the bargain beer at one stand. Time for a refill.”
Eddie stuffed the bag of peanuts into his back pocket and hustled after his dad.
Ken joined the four beer lines, ten people deep.
Eddie waited for him by the round, white table with a red and white roof shaped like an umbrella. Bottles of ketchup and mustard along with square containers of relish were on the table. The garbage barrel next to the table had beer cups sticking out over the top.
Eddie threw his ball into the air and caught it.
A man with a long beard and a girl a head smaller than Eddie walked up to the table. “Do you want mustard and ketchup on your hot dog,” the man asked.
“Just ketchup, Dad,” she said. The girl wore her hair in a ponytail with a pink clip. When her dad squirted some ketchup out, the container made a flatulent sound as it strained to get out the last squirts. Eddie plugged his nose and the girl giggled. As she walked away, she turned around, her cheeks filled with dog and bun, and waved.
“Eddie, let’s go back to our seats.” Ken held a cardboard tray with four more cups in it. He stumbled and some beer splashed out.
“Dad, where’s your glove?”
Ken kept walking.
Eddie couldn’t see over the people in line. He tried to spot the glove between their legs. In the popcorn stand next to the beer concessions, the popping corn sounded in Eddie’s ears like gunfire. He looked back for his dad, but he was gone.
Eddie ran over to the salesgirl working outside the gift shop. “My dad left his glove at the beer sale.” Eddie pointed to the long lines at the buck beer stand.
She looked up, finished folding a shirt. “Hi, baseball boy.”
Eddie pointed again. “My dad lost his glove.”
“I’ll find it. You wait here. Watch these clothes for me.” She winked.
A few minutes later, she returned. “Found it!”
Tears misted Eddie’s eyes.
“Where’s your dad? Do you need help finding him?”
“My mom’s picking me up at the statue.”
“If you can’t find her, you come find me.”
As Eddie walked by the garbage barrel, he slung his dad’s glove into it. A beer cup flew over the edge and clattered on the pavement before lying as still as a dead body.
Eddie gripped the baseball in his right hand, wore his birthday glove on his left one. He blinked tears away. Outside the gate, Eddie spotted her. “Mom!” She stood up, dropped her book onto the lawn chair. He ran to her outstretched arms.
She scooped him up. “What happened, honey? Are you okay? Where’s your dad?”
“He’s with his beer. He didn’t want the glove.” Eddie buried his face in her shoulder, cried.
“Okay. Let’s go home. I’ll text him that you’re with me.” If she didn’t tell him she had Eddie, how long before Ken looked for him? Would he look at all?
* * *
“Mom, why does dad like beer more than me?” Eddie sat at the kitchen table, a bowl of oatmeal with chocolate marshmallows in the shape of a smiley face in the bowl in front of him. He rearranged the marshmallows into a chocolate circle.
“He doesn’t, Eddie.” Janet struggled for the right words, considered ending the conversation and taking it to Eddie’s Tuesday counseling session with Doctor Smith. “Your dad is sick.”
“Does he have cancer, like Grandma did?”
Janet swallowed. Five months after her mom died, she still felt waves of emotion. “No, he’s not sick like that.” Janet stirred the strawberries in the bottom of her cup of yogurt. “You know how when I bake cookies, I hide them from you, give you two a day after school.”
“Yeah, because you say I’ll eat too many.”
“I say you’ll eat too many?”
“I do. I’ll eat ‘em until I get a tummy ache.”
“Well, your dad is like that, with beer.”
“Can we hide the beer from him?”
“No. Too many places have beer.” Janet sighed. She’d done the best she could for now. She’d talk to Doctor Smith about it, let him lead the conversation, guide her to the right answers to Eddie’s questions. “Okay, time to eat your breakfast.”
“Mom.”
“Yes, sweetie.”
“Do I have to see Dad Wednesday?”
“We’ll see, honey. Just eat your breakfast.” Janet planned to call her lawyer. Three months behind in child support, the incident at the game, concerns about Eddie riding in a car with Ken. Did she have to let Ken see Eddie? He needed a break, like someone who suffered an injury needed recovery time. Eddie needed to recover from the hurt.
“Don’t doctors have pills for beer sickness?”
“Please, Eddie. Eat your breakfast. We’ll talk more about your dad later.”
*. *. *
The doorbell rang in the middle of the weather report on the six o’clock news. Janet glanced out the picture window and saw Ken standing at the door, holding a pair of boots that looked like they had been run through a shredder. His left arm was wrapped in a gauze bandage.
Janet opened the door a foot and stuck her head out through the opening. “What happened?”
“I got an electric shot changing a transformer at work. My boots saved me from being electrocuted.” He held them up as evidence.
Janet sighed. “All right. You can come in. But just for a few minutes.” She swung the door open.
Ken sat down on the couch. “I could’ve been killed.” He unrolled the gauze to reveal a blackened, barbequed arm. “The good news is it’s not my writing hand. I get to be a desk jockey for a few weeks.”
Janet saw lines on his arm where the electricity entered and exited. In between the marks, his arm was black as burnt toast.
“Problem is, I don’t know how I’m going to get dressed—or undressed—without help.”
“Hire a nurse.”
“How can I catch up on child support if I have to hire a nurse. You need a new dryer.”
“Call your insurance company. I don’t have to work for child support money. And I’m not touching or seeing your naked body ever again. Never!”
“Is Eddie here?”
“He’s in his room, playing video games.” Janet had read the signals that showed how much beer Ken consumed a thousand times since their first date in high school: scent, gait, body language, eyes, speech.
Ken was sober.
He held the boots in his lap, like he expected Janet to pin a medal for bravery on their remains. “Can I see Eddie?” He set the boots gently on the floor, but they collapsed in a heap.
Janet knocked on Eddie’s door. He wore headphones, so she tapped him on the shoulder. “Your Dad’s here.”
Eddie shook his head. He put the headphones back on. He resumed the game. Janet lifted the headphones off his ears. “Pause the game. Come see your dad.”
Eddie groaned, threw the controller down in the chair, but he followed his mom.
Eddie stopped in his tracks when he saw the arm.
“Your dad had an accident at work,” Janet said. “He got burnt. It looks worse than it is.”
Eddie stepped forward, took a closer look.
“Looks scary, don’t it? I coulda died.”
“Die.” Eddie’s voice broke.
Janet squeezed his shoulder. “Your Dad’s exaggerating.”
“No I’m not!” Ken pointed to the heroic boots. “They saved me.”
Eddie squatted down to examine the boots. “How did they do it?”
“The rubber soles gave your old man just enough insulation.” Ken shook his head. “The doc said I’m a lucky man.”
“Did it hurt?” Eddie asked.
“It hurt like a motherfucker. Still does.”
“Jesus, Ken.” Janet scowled. “He’s eight-years-old.”
“Listen, staring death right in the eye, made me think. Your Mom said I hurt your feelings the other night. I’m sorry about that, so I’m going to get a glove, Eddie. A new one like you have. We’ll play catch.”
A novel full of broken Ken promises ran through Janet’s head.
“Can we play today?”
“No, I don’t have the glove yet. And I can’t put one on this hand. Ken winced as he moved his arm. “Dad has to get better first.” Then in a low, reflective whisper, as much to himself as to his son. “I almost died.”
“Can you throw me some balls. I’ll bring the ball back to you, hand it to you.”
“You’re not a dog, Son.”
“I know. But throwing is part of playing catch.”
“I’m in pain, Eddie. I can’t do it.”
*. *. *
The next night, a loud thud outside the house caused Janet to pause her Netflix show. She looked out the window and saw Ken collapsed against, the front door. She opened it, and Ken fell into the house, hit the floor with a thud.
“What was that?” Eddie came running into the living room. “Mom, his face is on fire!”
Ken muttered something incomprehensible. His face was red, brighter than a ripe tomato. He lay flat on his back. He attempted to roll over but only succeeded in worming a few feet across the floor. On his third attempt, he rolled over on his stomach, planted a hand on the floor, pushed off, rose, but fell hard on his belly. He gasped for air, moaned, put up a hand, pushed off, landed on his back.
“Oh, Ken,” Janet said.
Eddie leaned over and touched Ken’s forehead with his fingers. “He’s hot, Mom. Should I pour water on him?”
“No, Eddie.”
“Almost,” Ken said. “Boots.”
Janet took a pillow off the couch, lifted up Ken’s head and placed the pillow under it.
“Is this the beer sick?”
“Yes, Son.” Janet listened to Ken’s labored breathing. She held two fingers to the side of Ken’s neck to check his pulse rate.
“Mom, do we have medicine? Should I give him a Fixies vitamin.”
Janet hugged Eddie, kissed his cheek.
Ken glowed on the floor in front of them. He tried to rise but fell back to the floor. He winced in pain as his bandaged arm bounced off the hardwood.
Janet had seen Ken drunk many times—but this.
“I coulda died,” Ken mumbled.
Janet punched 911 into her cell. “Um, yes, I have a man intoxicated… No, in my home. He’s my ex-husband. I’m worried about alcohol poisoning… 911 Mint Circle.… Yes, he’s conscious. I’ve seen him drunk, really intoxicated, but this is different. I’m scared… Ok, I will.” Janet turned on the outside light and opened the inside door. As she waited for the ambulance, she considered what to do. Now. Tomorrow. Next week.
“Sorry, Dad. I didn’t know you were sick.” Eddie knelt down on the floor next to his dad. “Grandma died of cancer, but you don’t have cancer. So you’ll get better.” He took his T-shirt and wiped away a tear or a bead of sweat from his dad’s face. “I got sick in the car going to Grandpa’s. But I got better.” Eddie picked up Ken’s hand. “You’ll get better. When I’m sick, I get better. I always get better.”