back in a minute,” he said to Liz. His cleats popped gravel. He walked past middle school boys tossing a baseball in the parking lot.
“Y’all be careful. Don’t hit anybody’s car.” He pitched them the game ball. “The field’s clear. Go play out there.”
“Thanks, Will!”
He lowered his truck’s tailgate and sat to unlace his cleats. A balding man in a red jacket approached holding a notepad and clinching an unlit cigar between his teeth.
“Hey there, son, I’m Bruce Ford,” the man said. “I’m going around doing some scouting for Western Kentucky.”
“Nice to meet you.” Will wiped his hand on his pants and offered it.
“Good game tonight,” Ford said as they shook. “You got a hell of a fastball.”
“Thank you.”
“Slider ain’t bad neither.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ever think about going to Western?”
“Thought about it.”
“We got room for a couple pitchers next year.”
“I’d be proud to pitch for Western.”
“What other positions you play?”
“Everything but catcher.”
“You a good shortstop?”
“Fair. Better on first.”
“You’re quick.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You been talking to any other school?”
“A couple.”
“Western’s a good school and not too far away from home. You could still come back to see that pretty sweetheart of yours.”
Liz was standing with his mother and sister. They tried not to stare. Ford’s melodious voice said Will’s name and the word scholarship in the same sentence. “But you understand we got to look at everything all around. Your grades, your conduct record, your SATs.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right, then. Your parents around?”
“My mom is.”
“Fine boy like you pitching such a game and no daddy to come see him play?”
“He’s around.” Will tossed his cleats into the truck bed where they hit with a hallow thud.
Ford pinched the cigar between his teeth and bit. He spit the stub to the dusty ground. He studied the boy a moment and finally said, “All right, then, let’s go talk to that momma of yours.”
8
The first day Virginia let Jim Pickett in her kitchen and offered him a cup of coffee she had felt a fluttery lightness in her chest. He was more handsome than he had been in high school, his face more rugged and masculine. Jim had started swinging by the house to give Will a ride to work every weekend. Her son had mercifully chosen not tease her about their apparent attraction, choosing instead to ignore the possibility.
On the third morning Jim sat at her table she offered him breakfast. After that it became a Saturday routine, with Jim joining the family for the last few minutes of their meal, seemingly eating only leftovers, but devouring enough food it was apparent he had not eaten. She had invited him to watch Will play ball. Jim showed up with a heavy blanket that he offered to share with Virginia. She had thought it would be wrong to show any public displays of affection; after all, they had not even verbalized their interest to each other. Then her gaze had fallen on Roger standing down the fence line, his fingers hooked through the chain link. Suddenly she felt cold and needed the warmth of the blanket and Jim close to her.
When he had finally asked her to dinner she had acted nonchalant. But on the day of their date Virginia had laid her three good outfits out on the bed and dressed and undressed without satisfaction. Shannon helped her apply makeup, which Virginia had then buffed to nonexistence.
Jim picked her up on time. He wore a sport coat and jeans. They got in the car immediately, as though if they didn’t leave that minute, one of them might change their mind. They drove an hour to Bowling Green to see Coal Miner’s Daughter. Afterward they went to The Iron Skillet, where a line of people trailed out from the entrance. Couples sat on benches to the side of the fake double barn doors. Children played in the graveled landscaping. The place was designed to look like a weathered tobacco barn, which didn’t make sense to Virginia. Why anyone would want to eat in a barn was beyond her, but there was no telling what would appeal to people in a city like Bowling Green. It wasn’t big like Louisville, still had people who wanted to play at being country folks, or maybe they wanted some of the food they grew up with instead of thin excuses for hamburgers and greasy attempts at biscuits.
“Twenty-minute wait,” Jim said when he came back out. “Want to go somewhere else?”
“I can wait if you can.”
“Let’s have a drink.”
Virginia had never actually had a drink in a bar, but she said okay as if she had done it every day of her life. The lounge was packed, but a name was called and a couple vacated their relaxed spot next to the fireplace and Jim sat down. When the waiter came around, he ordered a bourbon and Coke.
“Something for the lady?”
“What would you like, Virginia?”
“Oh, something without too much alcohol,” she said.
“A glass of Chablis?” the waiter suggested.
“What’s that?”
“White wine.”
“Okay. I’ll try it.”
When their server had gone, Jim said, “So, how’d you like the movie?”
“Oh, I loved it. I thought Sissy Spacek was so good. I heard she sung all her own songs for that movie. Can you believe it? She sings as good as Loretta Lynn.”
“I agree.”
“I just hope the rest of the world doesn’t think that’s what all of Kentucky’s like.”
“Only Appalachia.”
“Shoot. I’ve got relatives in Paintsville and Prestonsburg and they don’t live like that.”
“You know somebody does though.”
“True, but still, they seemed so pitiful. I wanted to cry a couple of times.”
The waiter flipped two square napkins onto the tiny tabletop and set their drinks down. “The hostess said to tell you the wait will be a little bit longer than anticipated. I’m Eric. Holler if you need anything.”
The wine was sour in Virginia’s mouth. “It’s real good,” she said and smiled.
Jim took a big gulp of his drink and sat back to watch the silent basketball game on the bar TV. Players raced back and forth on the screen, their movements followed closely by jerky camera shots.
“Kentucky had a bad season,” Jim said. Basketball was always the topic of spring conversation, particularly if the Wildcats were winning. Virginia never understood why people got so tied up with certain teams, crazy about them like they had gone to that school. Seemed like everybody she knew followed UK basketball even though most of them had never set foot on campus. “They did okay in the SEC tourney. Got nudged out by two by LSU. But they were out of the NCAA tournament early.”
“Did you go to Kentucky?”
“Two semesters. Then I got married and moved to Indiana.”
Virginia finished the last sip of wine, and a tingly sense of calm came over her. She