On fire island, p.23
On Fire Island, page 23
It was a lesson on the dangers of infidelity—not a scare-the-shit-out-of-you lesson, like that famous scene in Fatal Attraction with the boiling bunny, but a lesson just the same.
“I want my family back more than I’ve ever wanted anything. If you forgive me, Renee, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you—and to Matthew.”
Renee was silent for a beat, then snapped into lawyer mode.
“When did you realize this, Tuck—and why?”
“I made a mistake. The biggest mistake of my life. I know how people look at me. I know I’m a short, balding know-it-all. I see people glancing at their watches when talking to me at cocktail parties or in the market. I wasn’t looking to be unfaithful to you, really, but Lola looked at me in a way no one ever had, and so I looked back. In the end, that was really all it was. I woke up one day a few weeks ago desperately missing my family.”
“And Lola?”
He laughed. “You suddenly care about Lola?”
“I’m just asking. The last I heard from Matty, you two were going to become engaged.”
Her line of questioning was curious. Was she leading the witness, thinking Tuck would say that Lola dumped him, and that’s why he wanted to come back home? I hoped that wasn’t the case. Whether she let him back or not, I hoped she would feel vindicated by him wanting her in the end for reasons of his own, not because he was dumped. I’ve seen people take back husbands or wives after infidelity and go on to have many wonderful years together, but she certainly didn’t deserve to be a consolation prize.
“I realized the engagement idea was a big mistake. I told her I missed my family and let her have the rental house in the Hamptons to herself for the rest of the season.” He surprisingly rolled his eyes, adding, “I’m sure she’s having the time of her life.”
Just when I thought things may go the way of reconciliation, Renee pivoted.
“Do you know what I loved most about you, Tuck?”
“I don’t.” He smiled, also hoping this was going in the right direction.
“That I could always count on you.”
His face dropped.
“That is gone, you know, that trust that meant more to me than anything else? It’s gone. My biggest fear, being lied to and left, like I watched happen to my mother, it came to fruition, and I survived it. There isn’t much that you bring to the table now, aside from the fact that you’re the father of my son.”
She was completely disenchanted with him, or more so unenchanted, as if she was just now realizing how low she had set the bar to begin with.
It was harsh. Tuck was speechless. Until he finally asked, “Wait. Is this about that drummer? After everything you said to me about Lola, you’re choosing that child drummer over me?” He laughed scornfully, his colossal ego reemerging again, overriding his brief foray into self-awareness.
“Well, I’m hoping the drummer—Gabe is his name—will stay around for a while longer, because I really enjoy his company, but I am not ‘choosing’ him.” Renee made little air quotes when she said “choosing,” and ended with a Benjamin Morse novel-worthy pronouncement.
“I’m choosing me.”
Ah! Just the ending I would have written for her. My inner editor beamed with satisfaction, and my inner BFF with pride.
Renee stood and walked toward the house, turning back to him once more, to leave things on a more civil note. “See you at the game, Tuck!” she yelled with a smile.
He stared at her blankly before sinking back onto the stairs to lose himself in the ebb and flow of the one thing that could weather any storm.
forty
The Big Game
Whereas on any other summer weekend, the stands on the ball field were filled with patches of onlookers who came and went, doing more chatting than watching, the big game carried a much grander, more competitive vibe. It was an event, a culmination of the summer, and an annual tradition that marked the passage of time.
Seated on the left-field set of bleachers, we had the people rooting for Bay Harbor, on the right for Oceanview. The men, and this year one gutsy woman, were divided as well: Bay Harbor in blue, Oceanview in red. Usually the teams are a mixed bag—this is the only game of the summer that pits one town against the other. The air was tense with competition. I’m not joking or imitating my sportswriter husband’s vernacular, it really was. Aside from the glory and the bragging rights, the winning team gets their name inscribed on a giant trophy (think Stanley Cup) that sits in the winning town’s market until the following Labor Day.
Both teams warmed up together on the field as each player took a turn at BP (batting practice). Joel passed out T-shirts that read, BAY HARBOR VS. OCEANVIEW HOMEOWNERS’ GAME.
With SPONSORED BY VIAGRA written on the back.
Everyone looked at them and laughed—except for the one woman.
I will do my best with the play-by-play. It’s not really my thing, but I have been sufficiently schooled in it over the years. So, here it goes:
Eddie stepped up to the plate for BP. Matty was on deck. Ben was catching.
“How you feeling, pal?” Eddie asked Ben while kicking up the dirt a little—as one does.
“Pretty good today, thanks.”
It may have been the first time he wasn’t lying. The dolphin-induced sparkle in his eyes was still in play, and while his shoulders remained hunched from the weight of the world, I recognized the very specific look he got when his brain was working on a new idea. You could almost see his mind trying to keep track of all its thoughts while still concentrating on the game.
The ball crossed over the plate, and Eddie hit a pop fly into the outfield. Shep caught it and did a little celebratory dance, holding his mitt in the air. These type of shenanigans were short-lived—everyone would get serious once batting practice ended and the actual game began. Very serious. Traditionally, it’s painful to watch.
“Good timing with him getting that bike back,” Eddie noted, regarding Shep’s great catch and happy dance.
“More like getting his dignity back,” Ben agreed.
Eddie took a few more swings before handing the bat to Matty, who immediately hit what would count as a home run in the actual game—up and over the rooftop of the second house in right field. I say up and over because this is often a field-clearing argument. Some of these men like to argue even more than they like to play ball. Not Ben, he’s more the peacemaker, but boy, a lot of them really get into it. Unlike the calamitous repercussions for hitting it over the left-field net onto the tennis courts, right-field shots are fair game. The general rule is, if it’s over the rooftop of one of the right-field houses, it’s a homer; if it hits or goes under one of them, it’s a double, and if they can’t decide if it cleared the roof or hit the house, they will argue for five minutes before compromising on a triple.
Matty did a casual victory lap around the bases just for fun as Ben pulled down the catcher’s mask and yelled, “Beautiful hit, Matty!”
Rico looked up from making the roster, shouting, “Save it for the game, kid!” with Shep countering proudly, “My boy’s got plenty more where that came from. Don’t you worry!”
The guys all stood around Rico as he put the finishing touches on the batting order and fielding positions. It’s a real ego thing with these guys. Aside from one just being seen as better than another, there is also the age factor. Two older men who had a ten-year rivalry over first base were both disappointed when he gave that position to Matty.
Matty hid both a smile and his nerves.
“Look at that. A ten-year conflict resolved for the greater good.”
“Maybe we should send Rico to the Middle East.”
Matty slipped on his shirt proudly as Joel patted him on the back.
“First time in the big game, kid. You nervous?”
“A little. Mostly psyched.”
“Good luck, Matty” was heard from all except the rival first basemen, who were suddenly commiserating with each other like best buds.
Dylan arrived, and Matty lit up.
“It’s time to get serious, boys. It’s been three years, and I want that trophy back!” Shep proclaimed passionately.
Bay Harbor was up first, because in this game home-field advantage goes to whomever won the year before. It’s called an advantage because the team that bats second gets last licks.
Rico grabbed his clipboard and announced, “Top of the order. Tony’s up, Joel’s in the hole.”
The game began with a triple and a double, putting Bay Harbor in the lead. Oceanview got one run and then out, and things went that way, back and forth and back and forth, until the fifth inning. At this point I lost track, until the ump changed the score on the board and announced, “Bottom of the fourth, five to three—Oceanview.”
Rico read out the order for the inning, “Matty, Ben, Shep.”
Matty stepped up to the plate. He let the first pitch fly by. He swung at the second and missed. The third hit his bat with a piercing crack and the ball ascended straight over the house in right field. The now huge crowd cheered; yelling an array of classic ball game jargon that I never quite understood.
“It’s a dinger!”
“It’s a yard job!”
“It’s a Texas leaguer!” as Matty casually took his victory lap.
Ben was warming up on the sidewalk when Josie showed up on my yellow bike, squeezing the ducky horn to get his attention. Her friend was riding a tandem behind her and had stopped to talk to someone she knew.
“Hey, Ben, I found your street!” Josie called out, following it up with her beautiful smile.
Ben’s face softened when he looked at her. It was one of the few times since my death that I had seen the pain leave his gaze. He answered her, uncomfortably, as opposed to apathetically. I considered it a win.
“Oh, hey, um, OK. You could just put it in my shed, if you don’t mind. I’m up next.”
“I’ll watch first,” she said sweetly, before catching eyes with Pam and Andie in the crowd. By the time Matty reached home plate, Josie was sitting in the stands with them, bouncing baby Oliver on her knee.
Matty partook in a round of celebratory cheers and high fives, and Renee and Tuck both proudly embraced him in a family hug. For a second, they looked as if they had reconciled, and I could feel all eyes on them. Renee could too, I’m sure. She took a step back and waved excitedly to the drummer in the stands.
He waved back at her, yelling, “Way to go, Matty!” He was again wearing shoes.
Ben breathed through the pressure and took his stance at home plate. Roger pitched. Ben swung low and missed.
“Strike one,” said the ump.
“What are you, golfing?” Eddie quipped.
Ben swung again.
“Strike two!”
“C’mon, son, get some wood,” Shep encouraged.
“You got this!” his new friend Josie piped in feverishly from the stands.
It made Ben smile. A hush came over the crowd. The next ball was pitched and then—Ding! Boom! Right over the tree in right field! The crowd went crazy, shouting more joyous ballplayer lingo as Ben ran the bases.
“It’s a moonshot over the bush.”
“Two in a row!”
“A back-to-back!”
As Ben rounded home, he and Matty jumped in the air and bumped back-to-back in victory. Josie stood and clapped vigorously for Ben, who clearly got a kick out of her unbridled enthusiasm.
Shep got up to bat. A young kid, his designated pinch runner, stood to his right. As always, Shep ignored the first pitch completely. Then came the second:
Pitch—swing—zing! And miraculously the ball flew just over the house in right field.
It was a big deal, a man of Shep’s age hitting a ball like that. When he was younger the guys would yell “Big stick” and “Move back” when Shep approached the plate. But it had been years since he’d even gotten a double. He told the pinch runner, “I got this one, kid.”
And he jogged the bases, milking it for all it was worth. It was worth a lot. The crowd on both sides went nuts, and Beatrix clearly had tears in her eyes. Our side was wild, yelling, “Three-peat” and “Back-to-back-to-back!” and “Trifecta!” The other team was comically countering with calls of “Steroids?” and “Get me the first aid kit—I want to do a urine test!”
Shep strode past home plate, and the three men bumped their backs together in victory. As they separated, Josie came down from the stands and approached Ben.
“Wow, that was great!” she said, clearly meaning it.
“Yeah—that happens all the time.”
“Really?”
Ben laughed. “No, absolutely not.”
They both laughed some more. Josie glanced at her watch.
“I wish I could stay for the rest of the game, but we’re catching the next boat out.”
“That’s OK,” he said.
“Wait, I almost forgot.” She reached into her pocket and discreetly slipped Ben a tutti fruity condom.
“Amazing! Thank you so much.”
“See you next summer?” she asked, looking straight into his eyes.
His pupils widened, and his eyes lit up in the way they did when tasting the perfect bite of steak or when he figured out the ideal word or plot twist.
He answered, “I hope so,” before adding more confidently, “Yes, that would be great.”
A warm, wide smile erupted on her face in response.
I don’t know if I can pin it all on Josie’s beautiful smile; I suspect the other events of the day: the dolphin sighting, the home runs, and the hope that comes with those first sparks of a new idea all came into play. His expression softened, and his shoulders released as he placed down the sack of boulders, my visual for his pain and suffering. It was only a brief moment before he picked up the miserable load again and threw it back over his shoulder, but in that moment, I made my escape.
“Julia!” Nana Hannah called out, madly waving at me from behind the bleachers.
This time I ran to her.
The game fell back into play as we embraced. I felt a tingling warmth throughout every inch of my body. The smell of her, the way her small frame always lined up on par with mine, allowing for the best hugs I’d ever known. I couldn’t believe I was feeling them again.
“I kept thinking people were waving at me, but you actually were!” I laughed.
She laughed too, and we embraced again. I knew it was time to go but asked for a little more.
“Can we watch the end of the game?” I asked, not wanting to spend eternity without knowing its outcome.
“Of course, bubbala,” she said.
Oceanview scored one run in that inning and one in the next. The ump approached the scoreboard and announced the score. “Top of the fifth, seven to six, Oceanview.”
Three Bay Harbor guys managed to get on base, and two got out—so bases were loaded and there was a full count. The pressure was epic, and Matty was up again.
“Bases loaded, two outs, Matty. This is big,” Eddie instructed him, as if he didn’t know.
“No kidding.”
Matty took a few practice swings on the side as Joel added, “A home run would put us in the lead, kid.”
“Leave him be,” Shep stepped in, adding quietly, “Remember everything.”
“Batter up!”
Matty took the plate as his mom, Tuck, the drummer, Dylan, Bea, Ben, Shep, and the entire rest of the town and me and Nana Hannah looked on anxiously. So, no pressure. On the mound, Roger looked at his ball and slowly threw it out of play, yelling, “New ball!”
“He’s like a human rain delay,” Ben moaned, his first contribution to baseball-speak all summer. As a sportswriter, he was normally the lexicon king. It was another sign of his brain actually working again.
A new ball was retrieved from the wagon and opened up, while Matty waited patiently, trying not to succumb to Roger’s attempt to psych him out.
“Don’t take the first pitch, kid,” Shep reminded him for the hundred thousandth time.
Matty nodded respectfully. Roger pitched. Matty swung, surprising everyone on the field, none more than Shep, and the powerful first shot took off in the air—going, going, gone, right over the forty-five-foot net and on to the tennis courts.
The silence was deafening until the ump broke it with, “And he’s outta the game!”
The crowd erupted in protest or accolades, depending on which town they hailed from. Matty was shocked. He looked at Shep and mouthed “Sorry.” Shep just shook his head. Matty looked down the line at everyone’s solemn, angry, or pleading faces. It was a sad day on the Bay Harbor field—until someone got the big idea of enlisting Little Les as Matty’s replacement.
Joel and Rico coaxed Little Les off the bleachers and begged him to step in for the last two innings. Both teams were thrilled that he agreed to play. There wasn’t a guy there who hadn’t followed the ecstasy and agony of his career. Even with the hiatus, they still insisted he bat lefty.
Everyone stood and gave him a standing ovation as he jogged out onto the field. He looked down at his sneakers when he got out there, kicking the ground a bit as he did, clearly trying to keep his emotions in check. When he looked up at the stands at his wife and little boy, his signature killer smile spread across his face.
Ben reached into his pocket and planted Josie’s gift in the palm of Matty’s hand and whispered, “Think of baseball.”
Matty’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He found Dylan at the end of the bench and unclenched his fist, giving her a quick view of what he was clutching.
“Tutti fruity?” she asked curiously.
He just shrugged.
“How many more innings?”
“Two.”
“OK, that should be plenty of time. I’ll slip away first. You follow in a few,” Dylan instructed him, as always, in charge of their adventures.
