Page 30 of Running Home to You
She let another ball go, bringing the count full. Abby chewed her lip. Kate fouled off the next outside pitch. Not a good one, but close enough to fight off. The final pitch peeled inside, and Kate hacked it just to the right of second base, skipping into center field, a stand-up single. Abby raised her eyebrows and clapped.
Trish Aalberg bunted next, moving Kate to second. One out.
Courtney Seaborn launched a shot directly to the left fielder. Two outs.
The PA announcer buzzed in the speakers. “Now up for the Eagles, number twelve, the shortstop, Abby Cruz.”
She chopped a practice swing. Coach Whitley feigned a few meaningless signs, the plan to hit away. Abby’s heart rumbled. Usually, the box didn’t faze her. The pitcher never scared her. But that was before. The game was different now.
“Strike one!”
Abby sighed. She swore she heard a phone chime and snapped her head to the bleachers.
“Strike two!”
She whiffed at a rise ball. She knew better.
The pitcher dug her toe in front of the rubber, whacked her glove against her thigh as she hurled another. Abby wanted to swing, moved her hips to swing, but kept her hands back as the ball dropped low.
“Good eye, Cruz!” Mick shouted.
Abby adjusted her batting gloves and helmet. She gazed at thefield. The one she longed for in grief and belonged to since birth. She waited for it to wake something in her, to hear it, but nothing came. Her eyes shifted to Kate, ready to run on second base. She nodded at her, and Abby nodded back.
She committed to the swing before the pitch left the circle. Her bat connected high, and the ball traveled on a rise. She gritted her teeth as she ran to first, uncertain if it would be out three or drop. The shrieks of her teammates answered, and still wheezy from her morning smoke, she continued to second.
“That’s Cruz with the double to score Hutchins. One–nothing Eagles.”
Abby sighed in relief as a run glowed on the board. It confirmed what never stopped being true. No matter how fucked the outside world got, she knew how to play, how to compete, how to be the best. Even if it was just going through the motions.
On defense, the same rang true. She charged the first grounder that cracked her way, throwing to Jill with time to spare. She accepted Kate’s high five, before the infielders whipped the ball around the horn.
“One out!” Kate called.
The only grin she managed that day was when it came time to turn two. She snagged the ball on a dive, flipped it out of her glove to Kate, who appeared not a second too soon, caught it bare-handed, threw and jumped over the runner in one motion. The team and crowd erupted. And while Abby finished the day with a triple, four RBIs, and an errorless outing at shortstop, Kate’s glint after the play was her favorite moment of the game.
The Eagles won 9–4. The team celebrated, but Abby observed as if separated by glass. She nodded at their compliments, but her reactions strained as if bending iron. And as she glanced at the bleachers she knew why. Her mother wasn’t there, not that many parents made the trip, but she wouldn’t be a text or a phone call away either. No matter how bad things got, no matter how far the game took her, Abby’s mother had always been that. Now she was just a phantom ring in her ears that stole her sleep.
They had a doubleheader the next day, and while she lay on the rollaway that night, she decided she didn’t need it. Not like this. Ten minutes after Coach Whitley checked on them for lights out, Abby ripped off the covers and slipped on her sneakers.
“What are you doing?” Mick sat up in the dark.
Abby shrugged on a jacket.
“Abby, don’t,” Kate said.
If anyone could stop her, it would’ve been Kate. But Abby didn’t want to be stopped. The game might have been hers, she might’ve crushed the ball, but she didn’t feel it. She’d won, but it didn’t make her believe. So, she left the room, slammed the door, determined to find another way to feel.
Every morning and every night, Kate prayed. She never forgot or missed. Usually, she prayed for simple things. She gave thanks, asked for health and strength, for her family, friends, Blake, and the team. She prayed for Abby too.
She prayed for her when she learned of her mother’s death. She asked God to grant her peace. She prayed for Abby’s safety when she jumped in the river. She prayed for her health when she looked extra haggard during their study sessions. She prayed she wasn’t alone on Christmas. Lately, she didn’t have a specific reason. She prayed for Abby so often that she became the last thing she thought of before sleep. She did it again now, nearly whispering as she paced the room.
Dear God, please watch over her, please keep her safe, please bring her back. Back to me.The request droned on like a tape in her head, while she stared at the door as if she might conjure Abby by hope alone.
“It’s been three hours. I think we should call Coach,” Jill said from bed.
Kate glanced at her phone. One o’clock in the morning. She’d called Abby thirteen times, left a voicemail, and sent ten texts.
“She’ll come back.” Mick sat at the hotel room desk and flipped through a dated travel guide.
