As I stared into the dark, my thoughts drifted back three weeks to the day I found out I’d been selected for the summer baseball team. When I saw my name on the team list, I ran all the way home, eager to share my excitement. Mom might even quit fretting about being unemployed long enough to congratulate me.
I hadn’t told Mom and Steven I was trying out because I didn’t want to disappoint them if I didn’t make it. I knew they were concerned because I had not yet made friends after two months in my new school. Well, they could quit worrying. All my buddies back in Vermont were guys I’d met playing on baseball or basketball teams, and I knew that would happen in Minneapolis, too.
I bounded up the front steps, tossed my backpack on the hall table, and called, “I’m home!” To my surprise, both Mom and Steven answered. Why was Steven home so early? He never showed up until six-thirty or seven.
They sat at the kitchen table with maps and papers spread out in front of them. Steven, who works as an engineer for a road-building company, often travels for his job; I assumed the maps meant another business trip soon.
“Guess what!” I said. “I tried out for summer baseball, and I made the team!”
Mom looked stunned. “There’s a school baseball team during summer vacation?” she asked.
I stood in my batting stance, with an imaginary bat on my shoulder, then swung at the imaginary ball. “It’s only for kids going into seventh or eighth grade. Games start the first week of vacation, and we play three times a week through August.”
I expected applause. Instead, Mom looked at Steven, the hesitating kind of look that adults give each other when they know something that the kids don’t know and are deciding how to tell it.
I was too psyched to wonder what the look meant or to quit talking. “My first practice is tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll probably play right field.”
“Congratulations on making the team,” Steven said, “but . . .” He looked at Mom, as if hoping she would finish the sentence.
“But what?” I sensed something was terribly wrong, though I couldn’t imagine what.
“I’m sorry, Josh,” Mom said. “You can’t be on the team.”
“Why not?”
“Steven’s being sent to India for two months,” Mom said. “You won’t be here this summer.”
“India!”
I felt as if a vacuum had been switched on somewhere deep inside me, sucking all the happiness out. I slumped onto a chair.
“Making this team is the best thing that’s happened to me since I left Vermont,” I said. “You want me to participate in school activities; you want me to make friends here. Well, the summer baseball team is my chance to do that.”
“I didn’t ask for this assignment,” Steven said, “and I wish it had come at a different time, but I have to take it. I’m the only engineer in my company who’s qualified for this job.”
I looked at Mom. “Why do we have to go with him?” I asked. “Why can’t we stay here?”
“Steven’s boss has hired me as Steven’s assistant for the summer,” Mom said. “I’ll type up all the reports, handle e-mail, and take care of the daily arrangements. It’s a temporary job, but it will get my foot in the door and give me a local reference.”
“What about me?” I asked. “What am I supposed to do all day while the two of you build roads and type reports?”
“You’re going to have a wonderful summer,” Mom said.
“In a hotel room in India? Don’t count on it.”
“You aren’t going to India with us,” Steven said. “You’ll spend the summer in Washington State with my Aunt Ethel.”
“Your aunt!” I leaned toward Steven. “I don’t even know her.”
“You’ll like her. She has a big house out in the country—fifty acres, I think. There’s a tree house in the woods and wild blackberries to pick. I used to visit her and Aunt Florence every summer when I was a kid.”
“I know you’re disappointed about the baseball team,” Mom said, “and I’m sorry you can’t be on it, but you’ll have other years to play baseball. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance for Steven and me.”
I looked at the pile of maps, lists, and books about India. “How long have you known about this?” I asked.
“Steven learned about the India assignment last week,” Mom said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We wanted to wait until we knew if I’d be going, too. We found out today that I got the assistant job. If I hadn’t been hired, I would have stayed home this summer and continued to look for work here.”
“Maybe Steven’s aunt has other plans for the summer. Maybe she’s going on a trip herself.”
“Aunt Ethel doesn’t travel anymore,” Steven said.
I envisioned a frail old woman in a rocking chair.
I left the house, got my bike out of the garage, and rode off, pedaling as hard as I could. Anger formed a hard knot in my chest. Why should I get shipped off to spend the summer with an elderly woman I’d never met?
I didn’t blame Steven; I blamed Mom. Steven had to go where his company sent him, but Mom had a choice. She could stay home this summer if she wanted to. She could look for a job here and let me play summer baseball.
I rode until my legs ached and ribbons of sweat rolled down my face. When I returned home, I went straight upstairs, got in the shower, and let the water pour over my head, wishing it could wash away my problems. I was sorry I’d made the team. If I had been cut, I would’ve been glad to leave town for the summer.
I dressed and sat on my bed, still fuming. There was a knock on the bedroom door.
“May I come in?” Mom asked.
I sighed.
“Josh, we need to talk.”
“Okay, okay. Come in.”
Mom sat beside me. “I’ve tried hard to find a job here,” she said. “I’m registered with several employment agencies, I read the Help Wanted ads every day, and I’ve sent out dozens of applications and résumés. I wish I had found work but I haven’t, and we need the money. This is my chance to contribute to our income, and it might lead to a permanent job. Please try to understand.”
I stared at my shoes. I understood why Mom wanted to go, but that didn’t help me any.
“Why do I have to go live with a stranger?” I said. “If I can’t stay here, why can’t I go back to Vermont where my friends are and spend the summer with Gramma?”
“Gramma’s having hip surgery the first of June,” Mom said. “She’ll be laid up much of the summer.”
“I could take care of her.”
“She’ll need help bathing and dressing for a while. Aunt Marian is going to stay with her.”
There was no sense arguing. With Mom’s sister in Gramma’s spare bedroom, there wasn’t any place for me. I knew I couldn’t stay with my dad, either. He’s in the Army, so my visits with him are restricted to when he’s on leave. My summer in Washington was a done deal, and I could do nothing to change it.
I wondered what Steven’s aunt was like. What if Aunt Ethel was an old fuddy-duddy who expected me to have perfect manners and listen to opera and wear a necktie? She didn’t travel, which meant she wasn’t adventuresome. I figured I’d be bored out of my mind.
Now, lying in bed on my first night in Aunt Ethel’s house, I knew I’d been wrong about that. Aunt Ethel was definitely not boring.
Mom had packed paper and pens, as well as envelopes, already stamped and addressed. The last thing she had said to me was “Be sure to write!”
I had not expected to write often because I didn’t think there would be anything interesting to report. Now I clicked the light on, found my notebook and pen, and wrote a letter.
Dear Mom and Steven,
Did you know that a bullet makes a whizzing sound as it flies past your head? I found that out in person, and I hope I never hear the sound again.
When Aunt Ethel and I got home tonight, we saw a bat flying around in the house. Aunt Ethel does not like bats, so she got out a shotgun and chased after it. I told her not to kill it, but she pulled the trigger anyway. I’m glad I wasn’t standing any closer. My ears rang for an hour.
She hit the bat, and it fell down behind a cupboard. We couldn’t get it out, so now it’s rotting back there.
Aunt Ethel baked a cake for me, but we had to throw it out because it had bat blood all over it.
Your nervous son,
Josh
P.S. I can’t wear a seat belt because Aunt Ethel’s truck doesn’t have them. It doesn’t matter; the way Aunt Ethel drives, even a seat belt won’t save me.
I knew that bat blood, bullets, and no seat belts would give Mom fits, but I didn’t care. She’s the one who had made me come here.
I fell asleep hoping the hotel in India was full of spiders.