Gripping the ball, Shelia winds up, throws, and watches Barry swing and miss.
"Mom, it's supposed to go between my shoulders and knees." He pats the ground with the bat.
Thinking a ten-year-old ballplayer can only do so much without the help of someone who knows what they are doing, Shelia frowns, trying to suppress her anger at Barry’s father for leaving them. He wasn’t cut out for marriage and fatherhood he told her two years ago before moving to California.
I'm trying,” she calls from the pretend pitcher's mound.
”Need any help?” A vibrant male voice startles her
“Hey, Mr. Prentice,” Barry waves at a gym-honed body beneath a better than average looking face.
”I’m Todd Prentice. I’ll be Barry’s phys ed teacher in the Fall.” He explains removing his cap and brushing his hand through short, blond, curly hair. “Mind if I pitch him a few?”
Feeling like a robot staring at him, she hands him the ball and glove, staying rooted to the spot.
”Batter up!” Todd smiles at Barry. The words are clear with a hint of laughter. Sheila jumps out of the way as the ball connects with Barry’s bat and sails past them.
For nearly an hour, Sheila dashes about chasing balls Barry hits in one direction after another. Every muscle in her body aches. She is ready to quit but each time she tosses the ball to Todd, his gorgeous smile chases her thoughts, numbing her aches.
At the point when she believes she is going to collapse, a horn blast grabs her attention. Glancing towards the parking area, she sees a red convertible sports car with a beautiful blond in the driver’s seat.”Todd, let's go. Sorry, I'm late.” Ms. Gorgeous blond waves at him.
Sheila’s disappointment gives competition to hurting muscles as she watches Todd briefly talk to Barry, wave at her, and jog to the waiting sports car.
“Did you hear me, Mom? Mr. Prentice said he’d help me again tomorrow if we are here. Can we come back? Please!”
Her heart wants to say yes; her reasoning mind says to keep her distance from someone who is attractive and unavailable. Barry’s pleading eyes overrule her reasoning mind.
During the next three days, Sheila agonizes from aching muscles and heart watching Todd drive away with the blond. Friday afternoon he brings a fielder’s mitt. Placing his arm around her, showing her how to catch or scoop a ball, she chastises herself for having tingling feelings and wanton desires.
She stares at him as he returns to the mound, remembering that her mother told her that after thirty most of the good guys were taken. She sighs, hoping maybe there is someone like Todd who is good looking and thoughtful enough to take the time to work with a young boy. She wonders if he and the blond have children. Probably not! Most young mothers don’t drive fancy red sports cars.
The crack of the bat rivets her from her thoughts. The pop fly heads directly towards her. Sheila dashes forward, her eyes squinting in the sun. Suddenly Todd’s back hits her and together they tumble on the ground. Their arms and legs tangle. Todd quickly turns around to face her.
”Are you okay?” He is on his knees rubbing her arms, his eyes moving up and down her body. “I didn’t know you were right behind me, or I wouldn’t have tried for the ball.” Their eyes lock in awareness of something beyond Sheila’s wildest dreams. Her heart races as he stands, pulls her to her feet, never taking his eyes from hers. Sheila glances at the parking lot looking for Todd’s wife.
“We gonna play anymore?” Barry calls to them.
“No Barry, I think your mom’s had enough for today.” Todd slips his arm around her, guiding her to the parking area. Barry follows.
At her car, Todd is hesitant, then says, “I was hoping you might let me take you to dinner tonight. It’s the least I can do after knocking you down out there.”
About to open her car door, Sheila stops, turns, and looks up at him. She stammers, stunned that a married man she admires as such a good guy could even think of inviting her to dinner.
”Isn’t’ your wife picking you up today?” Her voice is biting.
Todd stares at her questioningly. “My wife? I’m not married.” He wrinkles his forehead. “Oh, you mean Adrienne?” He laughs. “She’s not my wife. She’s my Realtor and only shows me places in the evening when her husband’s home with the kids. She picks me up here to save time, but no more. I found a place in Hampton Meadows.”
Sheila’s heart soars, feeling how a player must feel when he hits a three-bag homer and wins the World Series.
The End
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Life After Death
Wentzel, Goodwin Family
Published Ezine Articles
Amazon Author's Bio
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