Elias Voss, 53, a minor league Midwest League scout who spent 10 months a year crisscrossing cornfields in a beat-up 2017 Ford F-150 with a cooler of root beer and a binder full of player stats in the passenger seat, only showed up to his neighborhood’s July block party because his next-door neighbor left a six pack of his favorite hazy IPA on his porch that morning, scrawled note taped to the cardboard: “If you don’t come, I’m telling every scout in your league you cried at the 16U girls’ softball championship last spring.” He’d spent the past 8 years avoiding local gatherings like the plague, ever since his wife left him for a high school math teacher, tired of his constant travel and the way he shut down every time she tried to talk about having kids. It was easier to hide out in his lakefront rental, eating frozen pizza and re-watching 1995 World Series tapes, than field the pitying sideways glances from neighbors who thought they knew his whole story.
He leaned against a splintered pine picnic table, sweat beading under the brim of his faded Dayton Dragons cap, picking at a pulled pork sandwich slathered in too much vinegar-based sauce. The air reeked of charcoal and boiled sweet corn, kids screamed as they chased each other with supersoakers, a cover band down the block fumbled through a John Mellencamp track. He was half debating bailing early when he spotted her walking toward him, a paper cup of pink lemonade in one hand, a grin spreading across her face when she saw him.
It took him three full seconds to place her. Mara Carter. The kid he’d babysat for two straight summers when he was 25, when her parents worked double shifts at the local factory. She was 10 back then, pigtailed, covered in glitter, always begging him to teach her how to throw a curveball, once fell off his old mountain bike and split her wrist open, still had the thin silver scar curving along her left forearm to prove it. He hadn’t seen her in 12 years, not since she left for college in Chicago. Now she was 38, golden brown hair braided loose over one shoulder, sun freckles dusting her nose, cutoff denim shorts and a linen button down tied tight at her waist, showing a sliver of tanned skin above the waistband.
“Elias Voss. I heard you were still hiding out in that little house by the lake,” she said, stopping so close their shoulders brushed, the sweet, warm scent of jasmine and coconut sunscreen rolling off her. He froze, suddenly hyperaware of the ketchup stain on his old team hoodie, the grass stuck to his white sneakers. He’d only ever thought of her as a noisy, glitter-covered kid, the kind who drew stick figures all over his scouting reports when he wasn’t looking. Now he couldn’t stop staring at the way her lips curved when she smiled, the way the sun caught the gold hoop in her left ear. He felt a hot, sharp twist of guilt in his chest, like he was doing something wrong, something dirty, even as he found himself leaning in a little closer to hear her over the noise of the party.
She hopped up on the picnic table next to him, swinging her legs, their knees bumping every time someone walked past. She told him she’d moved back to town two months prior, took the high school principal job, was sick of the chaos of Chicago. She teased him about still wearing that same ratty Dragons cap, said she used to steal it and wear it around the house when he was babysitting her, thought it made her look like a pro ballplayer. He laughed, a real laugh, the kind he didn’t let out very often, and the guilt faded a little, replaced by a warm, thrumming curiosity he hadn’t felt in years. She told him she’d had a huge crush on him when she was 12, thought he was the coolest person alive because he got paid to go to baseball games and never made her eat broccoli when her parents were gone. He felt his face heat up, and when she brushed a strand of hair off her face, her hand grazed his forearm, he didn’t pull away.
They talked for an hour, the party fading into background noise. She kept holding his gaze longer than she needed to, licking her lips when he rambled about a 17 year old shortstop he’d found in a tiny town outside Des Moines, who had a 90 mph fastball and a swing so smooth it made Elias’s chest hurt. A group of teens set off a rogue firework 10 feet from their table, the crack so loud everyone within 20 feet jumped. Mara lost her balance on the table, tipping sideways, and Elias reached out on instinct, his hand wrapping tight around her waist to catch her. Her free hand slammed against his chest, their faces inches apart, he could taste the strawberry lemonade on her breath, feel the rapid thud of her heartbeat under his palm. She didn’t move away, just smiled, her eyes glinting in the string light strung between the oak trees. “You still have quicker reflexes than every coach I’ve ever met,” she said, quiet enough only he could hear.
The last of the guilt vanished right then. He knew people would talk, would whisper about how he used to babysit her, how he was 15 years older than her, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t felt this alive, this seen, since before his wife left. He asked her if she wanted to get out of there, go back to his place, watch the official fireworks show from his back porch, he had a clear view over the lake, no crowds blocking the way. She nodded immediately, sliding off the table, not even bothering to say goodbye to anyone.
They walked the three blocks to his house in silence, the distant thrum of the party behind them, cool lake breeze blowing off the water. Their hands brushed a few times, then he laced his fingers through hers, her palm smaller than his, a little calloused on the index finger from grading papers, fitting perfectly in his. He pulled two cold beers out of his fridge when they got inside, led her out to the back porch, where the old wicker swing hung from the eave. They sat down, and she leaned her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping loose around her waist, as the first red firework burst over the lake, painting the water bright crimson. When a burst of electric blue fireworks painted the sky, he turned his head and kissed her, slow and soft, and she kissed him right back.
