“Nah, we got this. Tanner’s up next,” I reassured, nodding at the TV.
“Tanner?” Max looked down at his score sheet. “Oh yeah, he’s the fourth batter in the order. So that means he’s good, right?”
“The best. Made the all-star team this year.” Pop nodded, eyes glued to the TV, an empty soup bowl next to him. Ryla had brought him his second helping half an hour ago, informing us that she and Momma were now making homemade moon pies.
I hadn’t seen either of them since.
Tanner knocked the first pitch high into right field.
“That’s goin’!” Pop yelled, and I stood, prompting Max to get to his feet as well. We watched and cheered as the ball sailed over the right field fence.
“Home run! Let’s go!” I cheered, hands up, smiling wide at Max as we high fived and watched the all-star third baseman round the bases on his walk-off home run.
A few minutes later, after watching the celebration on TV, we sat down. My daddy was all smiles as usual after a Braves win.
“It doesn’t get better than that. A walk-off home run on a perfect July day. The only thing that’d be better is doing a catch outside. You bring your glove, Max? Jace yours is still in the garage, I ’reckon, and we’ve got plenty of baseballs laying around.”
Max looked down, suddenly quiet.
I glanced to Max, not entirely sure if he’s ever thrown a baseball in his life. “Nah, we didn’t bring it along. Maybe next time, though.”
Frowning, my daddy studied Max, then nodded. “Well, no harm there. We got plenty in the garage. Why don’t you boys go out and toss a few around? It’d do my heart good to see someone gettin’ use of ’em.”
Max’s cheeks flushed red so I took a knee in front of him. “Hiya, Max. We don’t need to do anything you don’t want to do, alright?”
His red-rimmed eyes moved between me and his lap.
“Have you ever thrown a baseball before, Max?” I asked softly.
Shaking his head slowly, Max continued looking down.
“You know, I learned when I was about your age,” I lied. I was barely four when Pop was tying my right arm behind my back until Momma stopped him. I looked over my shoulder and gave Pop a wide-eyed stare, teeth slightly clenched. “Right, Pop?”
Pop shifted in his chair. “Absolutely. Was terrible at first, too, could barely throw five feet in front of him.”
I frowned at him. He didn’t need to lay it onthatthick.
I looked back to Max. “Tell you what. Let’s go out and try on some gloves. That’s it. We can bring them back home, and if you ever want to learn how to throw, you ask me. Anytime. I got you.”
I waited quietly for his response, watching his face carefully to gauge if we were going to have to leave, when Max surprised me.
“I’d like to. But what if . . .” there was a little tremor in his voice. “What if I’m no good?”
“You won’t be at first.” I smiled. “And you won’t be good on your second or third try either. I was plain awful, just like Pop said?—”
“Yup,” my daddy chimed in happily from behind me. I barely held back a roll of my eyes.
“—but I didn’t give up. I made plenty of mistakes. Making mistakes is part of life, Max. That’s the only way you learn. Don’t let the fear of failing keep you from trying. I kept at it and made the team in high school. Played all four years. Some of the most fun I’ve ever had.”
As the words left my lips, I really and truly heard them. Was that what I was doing in my own life? Was that the reason I hadn’t pursued teaching, because I’d been afraid of failure?
I stood and held my hand out. “I’ll only play catch with you on one condition. Let’s go out there and play the worst, most horrible round of catch ever, deal?”
Max wiped his eyes; some of the wariness had left his expression. “I guess I can try it out.”
Pop chimed in, “Attaboy! I’ll be watching through the window. And I don’t wanna see you make a single catch—or throw, you hear? Only misses!”
Max looked warily at Pop on his way out of the room. After Max left, I turned back to my old man, throwing my arms out to my sides, throwing him awhat the hell was that?expression.
