Page 50 of Chasing Headlines
“You weren't supposed to get all teary-eyed for my sake. Geez, you're tall, Cooper.” She stopped in the middle of the hallway—near the door to her “residence”. “What'd they put in your Wheaties? Some of Jack's beanstalk beans?”
“How'd you get so tall?” Mom grinned and ruffled my hair. She smiled, but her eyes looked glassy. Like she might cry. “You're not my little guy anymore.”
“Mr. Cooper?”
I blinked and looked away. “Yeah.”
“Lost in a memory, I see. I know the look. Happens often enough around here. Just not usually with the younger folks.” Her voice softened and she gave me a small smile.
“You reminded me . . . of something my mom said, once.” Heat welled in my eyes. I took a breath, blinked the world back into focus.
“You're kind of a big guy to be a mama's boy. I know I'm short, but what are you, six two?”
I gently pulled her arm from mine.Was it this place? Too much like a hospital? Or her? Stubborn and fiery even if she looked . . . so frail.
Dotty opened the door. “You could stay.” She gestured at the small plastic white table sitting next to a curtained window. “Have some tea.”
“Promise me you won't forget . . .”
I shook my head. “My job's the front desk.”
“Ain't nobody coming to visit us petrified pieces of wood at this time of night, Jack.”
“Doesn't change the job.” I slid my hands in my pockets and fixed my eyes on the door frame. Ugly, brown-painted metal. Probably meant to look like wood.
“You should call your mom. Tell her you miss her. We mothers like to hear?—”
“She died.” I clenched my jaw and turned away. A hollow place in my chest felt like it ripped open and bled. All these months later, and still, the burning and aching emptiness inside me?—
A soft sigh. “I'm sorry,” Dotty said.
“I'm sorry I won't make it to your big game.” Mom patted my hand.
“Most people are.”
Chapter Thirteen
Olivia POV
That same week . . .
Isat on the edge of coach Eberhardt's desk and stared across the office at the whiteboard. There was a fundamental problem with the first draft of this roster. And for some reason, no one was addressing the elephant in the room. “Why are we so thin at catcher?”
Eberhardt sighed. “It's complicated.”
“I'm not missing something?” I stared at the list of names along the side of the whiteboard. Names I knew backward and forward. Essential stats. And for the first time, glimpses of personalities and individuals.
“No, our starter was supposed to be a senior this year. He decided to go on some exchange program and gave up his scholarship.”
“That’s kinda unusual.”
Schorr snorted from underneath the ballcap pulled low over his face. “You ain’t kidding.” Those black orthopedic shoes on his desk, I’d thought the man was napping.
“Last year, we were just looking for someone to develop, since we figured we had another year. Hague was solid behindthe plate and at the plate. Hardly missed a game. We were hedging bets to expand our pitching roster, and at the last minute, had to change tactics. We lost out on the ambidextrous Ryo Hibara and brought in Peter Latske.”
“Man, I saw Hibara’s exhibition. It sucks he went to Chicago Centennial.”
Schorr grunted and sat up. Lifted his hat and scratched at the thinning hair on his head. “Never saw nothing like that kid. Was like watching Curt but with two arms that could pitch instead of the one.”