Page 36 of The Beat of My Heart
Taking the few steps back to Charlie, I stop right in front of him. “What’s with the face, Charlie? You swallow some lemons or something?”
“Do you know every man in this stadium or what? And why do they all call you Babycakes?” he asks, sounding like a sullen teenager.
“Why, Charlie, are you jealous?” I tease.
“Yes,” he bellows, then quickly tries to backtrack. “I mean,” he lets out a heavy sigh. “Here, Sip of Sunshine, just like you requested. I even sprang for the matching koozie.”
“Ooh, I love koozies,” I tell him. “Come on, let's get to our seats, and I’ll tell you all about Babycakes.”
Placing his hand in the small of my back, we turn to our seats. With my eyes trained on the field, I tell him, “My dad has taken me here forever. I wasn’t always an easy child. The noises sometimes bothered me. I didn’t like people getting too close and I hated when people sat behind me, which, as you can imagine, made these seating arrangements a little tricky.”
“Why would he bring you then? I mean, it doesn’t sound like it could have been enjoyable,” Charlie asks.
“He brought me because I loved it. I hated everything else, but I loved being here. I think more than once, it broke him to see me struggle with wanting to be here in my mind, but physically crawling out of my skin. I was the kid with those big headphones on that would rock in my seat when things got to be too much. I saw my father cry in these seats for reasons that had nothing to do with baseball,” I tell him.
“Anyway, if I could make it to the seventh-inning stretch, I was in the clear, but getting there was tough sometimes,” I say, swallowing hard. “I don’t know how I didn’t end up as a three-hundred-pound child, but my dad figured out the fried dough would distract me during my episodes. I liked to watch the powdered sugar float through the air with every bite. When I was really little, I called them babycakes,” pausing, I look at Charlie as understanding takes place. “All these ‘guys’ you met tonight? They are all friends of my dad’s or people that had season tickets next to us. All people that just wanted to help a little girl enjoy something that meant the world to her. They became friends who would go sprinting through Fenway to find the funnel cake guy as soon as I started rocking in my seat. After a while, my dad never even had to ask. Everyone around us got used to my cues. Some of them got so good at reading me, I’d have a babycake in my hands before I even realized I needed one. It only took one season for the name to stick, I’ve been Babycakes to them ever since.”
Leaning in to press his forehead to mine, Charlie says, “I’m glad you had all these guys, Angel. It sounds like you have an amazing family. What would happen in the seventh-inning stretch?”
I smile because I do have a fantastic family, but thinking of them reminds me of Charlie’s dad, and I pull away quickly.
Not sure where to start, I answer the easy question first, “The seventh-inning stretch they play my song, you’ll see.” I smile. “Um… Charlie?” I’m so nervous and I have no idea why.
“What is it, Angel?”
“I know we have our rules,” I begin.
“Fuck our rules, Angel. Remember, we are making our own,” he tells me firmly.
“Right, well, ah, I mean, it’s just that…”
Charlie places a hand on my knee and I relax immediately. Looking at his whiskey and firefly eyes, I ask, “Would you be okay if your father was following you?”
His hand squeezes my leg, almost to the point of pain, before he gets his bearings and eases up. “Sorry, Angel,” he says, rubbing my leg where his hand had been. “Why would you ask that?” He is looking around us now, visibly shaken but trying to control himself.
“When you went to get the beers, I saw him. He was sitting five or six rows up at your 7 o’clock.”
I watch as Charlie nonchalantly takes in our surroundings, settling on his 7 but not finding what he is searching for. Pressing a button on his Apple watch, he says, “Eyes on me, 7 o’clock, fifteen minutes ago.”
Training my eyes on the beer in front of me, I realize I am wringing my hands. Something is very, very wrong here. My foot taps in time to my thoughts as I make mental lists, trying to figure out what I’ve gotten myself into. Without thinking, I blurt, “Are you dangerous?”
Taken aback, Charlie looks hurt but seems to understand my need for information.
“No, Angel, I am not dangerous. I’m not married. I’m not a liar. I am not a criminal. What I am is a man trying to make his own way in this world but have family ties that are trying to drag me under. I won’t let that happen,” he says.
I think he is about to elaborate when a man I don’t know sits down beside him. I watch as Charlie’s body language changes instantly. He obviously knows him.
“Charlie,” the man says by way of introduction. Leaning over Charlie, the man offers his hand to me. “Nice to meet you, I’m Lance Jacobs. I’ve been friends with Charlie here since elementary school.”
“Ah, I’m… Angel? Angel McDowell,” I tell him. “It’s nice to meet you as well.”
Why did I use my real last name? Fuck.
A smile that seems genuine takes over the stranger's face, “The pleasure is all mine. Do you mind if I borrow our friend here for a moment?” he asks.
“Sure,” I answer.
“Lance,” Charlie says with disdain, “I’m not leaving her here,” he says under his breath, but I still hear.
