Edward's Eyes (6 page)

Willie was three for four.
One was a pop-up and I thought about when I taught Edward the infield fly rule, reading to him in the bathroom. I remembered Edward calling it to me from the baseball field in our front yard.

His last time at bat Willie hit to the opposite field. A solid drive.

“Good eyes,” said Albert under his breath.

Then he looked at me, suddenly knowing what he had said.

“It's okay,” I said softly.

When the game was over and we got up to leave, Willie came up to us.

“This is Trick and Albert,” I said. “They played baseball.”

“I could tell,” said Willie. “By your throw,” he said to Albert.

Albert smiled.

“You had a good day,” said Albert.

Willie nodded.

“Better every day now,” he said, still looking at me.

I stared at his eyes, looking for Edward there. But somehow, the eyes that looked back at me were Willie's eyes.

When we started to go, Willie called to us.

“Will you come again?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered before Trick and Albert could answer.

Willie came over and put his arms around me.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

 

Albert Groom drove home, Trick in the front seat, me in the back. I watched trees and
houses go by, a pond and a marsh, tall cattails at the edges.

“Albert?”

Albert looked in the rearview mirror at me.

“Yes?”

“I think we should start the baseball games again.”

“Good idea,” said Albert.

There was a silence.

“And…,” I paused.

“Yes, Jake.”

“Maybe I'll play baseball,” I said, surprising myself.

Trick turned to smile at me.

“Okay,” said Albert.

There was another long silence. I saw the bay off in the distance. Soon we'd be home. We rounded the head of the bay, light sitting on water.

“Maybe I'll learn how to throw a knuckleball,” I said very softly from the backseat.

No one said anything. Maybe no one heard me.

We drove into the driveway and got out of the car.

Albert held up his hand for a high five. He'd heard me.

We were home.