The Last Inning Still Had Her Smile
Brian Armer
Jo knew where her daughter was sitting without looking. Every time she turned toward the bleachers, a paper sun rose above the railing. It had crooked orange rays, an enormous smile, and one corner that kept folding in the wind. Ellie had been holding it up since the second inning.
By the sixth, Jo’s team was behind and Ellie’s arm was getting tired. Jo watched her lower the drawing onto her knees, rub her shoulder, then lift it again when Mom glanced over. From left field, Jo tapped the brim of her cap. Ellie tapped the top of her head with the sun and nearly dropped it. They both laughed.
At the fence before the last inning, Ellie met her with a serious expression. “You need to hit it farther.” Jo leaned against the rail. “I was thinking of trying that.” Ellie considered this. “Good. Because I’m running out of sunshine.” She showed Mom the bent corner.
The wind had left Jo’s lips dry and uncomfortable. She took a drink from her own bottle, pulled her cap snug, and nodded toward the drawing. “Save me a little for afterward.” Ellie flattened the corner against her knee. “Okay. But you have to come get it.”
The last inning didn’t become a movie. Jo’s team scratched out a run, then left the tying runner on second. Back in left field, she chased a high fly toward the fence, found her footing, and caught it with both hands. Her teammates called her name. From the bleachers came one much smaller voice, loud enough to reach her anyway. “That’s my mom!”
When the game ended, Jo lingered beside the dugout while the teams shook hands. She was replaying the runner stranded on second when Ellie arrived with the sun tucked under her arm. “We lost,” Jo said. Ellie looked at the scoreboard, then back at her. “I saw.”
Jo crouched to gather the jacket that had slipped from Ellie’s shoulders. “Sorry you sat out here in all that wind.” Ellie pushed the drawing into her hand. Up close, Jo noticed the little green cap above the sun’s eyes. The smile had a gap where a tooth should have been. “It’s us,” Ellie said. “You’re the hat. I’m the teeth.”
Jo looked from the drawing to her daughter’s own missing front tooth. Then she laughed so hard Ellie started laughing too. They walked toward the car with the sun between them, each holding a corner so it wouldn’t fold. At the gate, Ellie looked up. “Are we coming next Thursday?” Jo squeezed her hand. “You bet.”
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