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As soon as that final bell sounded, Emily was on the phone with athletic directors all over the state. Most were happy to hear her news, a few sounded skeptical, and one was downright patronizing. Tim Whittemore from Richmond: “Are you sure you want to play us the first year? You know we were state champs last year, right?” Emily had no idea. She hadn’t cared about such things a year ago. She barely cared now.
“You can say no,” she reminded him.
He backpedaled a little. “I’m not saying no. I just want you to know what you’ll be up against. Frankly, it could be a slaughter.”
Emily rubbed her temple, where a small throb had taken root. “I’m sure your coach will respond accordingly. Maybe it will give him or her a chance to play his subs.”
“Coach,” he said, his condescension almost palpable through the phone line, “our subs will slaughter you.”
“Like I said, you can say no. But if not, we’ll see you on the twenty-first.”
“Well, you won’t see me.” He chortled. He was far too important to be coaching a softball team. “But you’ll be seeing our team. Good luck.”
Emily hung up the phone and took a deep breath. She now had two home games scheduled. Even though she had no field. How hard could a field be?
––––––––
“How hard can a field be?” James repeated, clearly astonished. “You realize you’re sitting on a giant rock, right?”
She was also sitting on a barstool. The Big Dipper was busy and there had been no tables available. So she was bellied up to the bar, showing the man of her dreams her new softball schedule.
“Well, the kids told me there used to be a field on Cobblestone Street. So maybe someone hauled in some sod a few decades ago?”
James gave her a look that said he didn’t appreciate her tone. “Have you seen that supposed field?”
“No, but I hear there’s a backstop.”
“Yep, a dilapidated death trap that wouldn’t stop a tennis ball. And the field has turned into a group latrine for all the neighborhood dogs.”
“Ew!” she said and meant it. “Let’s go take a look at it after we eat.”
He looked at her again, but this time she thought she saw a twinkle of admiration in his eyes. “You are like a dog after a bone.”
“Just what every woman wants to hear from her ...” She stopped herself. She didn’t know what to call him. Boyfriend? Fiancé? Platonic dining partner?
He didn’t come to her rescue. He just picked up his soda and drank through his straw, blankly gazing at the television behind the bar.
After an eternity, their burgers came, and they ate in a silence that became less uncomfortable as it went on. By the time he was wiping ketchup from his lips and asking for the check, things were back to normal.
“So can we?” she asked.
“What?” He stood and grabbed his coat. Then he remembered. “Oh yeah, the field. Sure, let’s go take a look.” He paid the tab and they headed outside into the cold.
“Hard to believe we’ll be playing anything outside soon. It’s freezing out here.” She tightened her scarf.
“It will probably be cold for your first few games too. Though you’re away your first weekend, right? It will be warmer in Buckfield. Less wind.”
She grinned. “So you did pay attention to my shiny new schedule.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, opening the pickup door for her. “I can’t even tell you how enthusiastic I am about your softball season.”
She thought he was being ironic, but his deadpan tone gave nothing away.
Though she was determined not to let the sight of the old softball field—no matter its condition—discourage her, she couldn’t help it. It wasn’t a softball field at all.
“Why have they even bothered to keep cutting the grass?” she muttered.
“For the dogs, I think,” he said, taking her hand as she slid out of the truck.
This small touch cheered her up. But then she looked at the field again. “Did they used to have a grass infield?”
He squinted. “I think ... and I’m really stretching here, as I don’t remember spending any time here, that the base paths were dirt, but the rest was grass. But I could be getting it confused with the baseball field. Sorry.” He walked over to the backstop and pushed on it. It wobbled but didn’t come crashing down. “I can build you a backstop.”
This shocked her. “You can?”
He chuckled. “Sure. I don’t want to. But I love you. And this will be good for the girls.”
“Can you skin an infield too?”
He scowled. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means, can you peel the sod off the infield, so I can have a dirt infield?”
He didn’t look excited about this. “What kind of equipment do they use for that?”
“I have no idea.”
He nodded but it looked reluctant. “I don’t know any of the measurements.”
“That’s OK,” she said quickly, “I’ve already emailed the MPA and asked them to send me a rulebook. I’m sure the requirements are in there.”
He groaned. “I’m sure they are.” He looked at the giant boulder sticking out of deep center field. “Don’t most fields have a fence?”
“Yes, but let’s do one thing at a time.”
