Page 23 of Summer Weddings
“You all right?” Jeff yelled, racing toward her.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she shouted back, discounting his concern as she brushed the dampness from the seat of her jeans. She righted herself, assumed the position and waited for the second ball.
Jeff ran back to his mock pitcher’s mound, gripped both hands behind his back and stepped forward. Robin closed her eyes again. Nothing happened. She opened her eyes cautiously, puzzled about the delay. Then she recalled the hand movements she’d seen pitchers make and flexed her fingers a few times.
Jeff straightened, placed his hand on his hip and stared at her. “What was that for?”
“It’s a signal… I think. I’ve seen catchers do it on TV.”
“Mom, leave that kind of stuff to the real ballplayers. All I want you to do is catch my pitches and throw them back. It might help if you kept your eyes open, too.”
“I’ll try.”
“Thank you.”
Robin suspected she heard a tinge of sarcasm in her son’s voice. She didn’t know what he was getting so riled up about; she was doing her best. It was at times like these that she most longed for Lenny. When her parents had still lived in the area, her dad had stepped in whenever her son needed a father’s guiding hand, but they’d moved to Arizona a couple of years ago. Lenny’s family had been in Texas since before his death. Robin hadn’t seen them since the funeral,although Lenny’s mother faithfully sent Jeff birthday and Christmas gifts.
“You ready?” Jeff asked.
“Ready.” Squinting, Robin stuck out the mitt, prepared to do her best to catch the stupid ball, since it seemed so important to her son. Once more he swung his arms behind him and stepped forward. Then he stood there, poised to throw, for what seemed an eternity. Her knees were beginning to ache.
“Are you going to throw the ball, or are you going to stare at me all night?” she asked after a long moment had passed.
“That does it!” Jeff tossed his mitt to the ground. “You just broke my concentration.”
“Well, for crying out loud, what’s there to concentrate on?” Robin grimaced, rising awkwardly to her feet. Her legs had started to lose feeling.
“This isn’t working,” Jeff cried, stalking toward her. “Kelly’s only in third grade and she does a better job than you do.”
Robin decided to ignore that comment. She pressed her hand to the small of her back, hoping to ease the ache she’d begun to feel.
“Hello, Robin. Jeff.”
Cole’s voice came at her like a hangman’s noose. She straightened abruptly and winced at the sharp pain shooting through her back.
“Hi, Mr. Camden!” Jeff shouted as though Cole was a conquering hero returned from the war. He dashed across the yard, past Robin and straight to the hedge. “Where have you been all week?”
“I’ve been busy.” He might’ve been talking to Jeff, but his eyes were holding Robin’s. She tried to look away—but she couldn’t.
His eyes told her she was avoiding him.
Hers answered that he’d been avoidingher.
“I guess youhavebeen busy,” Jeff was saying. “I haven’t seen you in days and days and days.” Blackie squeezed through the hedge and Jeff fell to his knees, his arms circling the dog’s neck.
“So how’s the baseball going?” Cole asked.
Jeff sent his mother a disgusted look, then shrugged. “All right, I guess.”
“What position are you playing?”
“Probably outfield. I had a chance to make pitcher, but I can’t seem to get anyone who knows how to catch a ball to practice with me. Kelly tries, but she’s a girl and I hate to say it, but my mother’s worthless.”
“I did my best,” Robin protested.
“She catches with her eyes closed,” Jeff said.
“How about if you toss a few balls at me?” Cole offered.
