The Prospect, Eliot Parker [free ebooks for android .TXT] 📗

just hold them horses,” chimed Frank, sitting directly across the table from the mayor. “We still have some time and some ways to raise money here. That is why Ryan is here. Ryan my lad is going to help us figure a way to raise money by including the Loggers in the fundraising.”
Patting Ryan on the back, the second baseman smiled childishly. Shane was supposed to be on the committee, but Ryan lost a rock, paper, scissors contest, with and thus took the seat on the committee.
“Someone please tell me what in the world this boy knows about this festival and raising money. I mean, this whole thing takes leadership, responsibility, and integrity.”
“So what are you doing here then,” chided Frank, eliciting a laugh from Phil and leaving Ryan further confused. The mayor fumed.
“I…I…I…was t…thinking…..”
“And just when have I failed to be a leader, Frank?” asked Morton. “You seem to have all of the answers, so let’s here some examples.”
“If you want me to go back and discuss them days in the saw mill I can, and if Roger were here, he could throw in some things too.”
The mayor was flabbergasted. Roger Triplet’s name was the equivalent of picking an old scab and Morton could not help but remember Shane’s inquisitiveness on the matter.
Waving his finger in agitation, the mayor fired back.
“That was a long time ago in a different period. We have all changed since then. That was in the past and it is best to leave it that way.”
“Leopards don’t change their spots mayor,” Phil remarked.
Gazing into the center of the table, the small room grew idle of speech and movement. Determined to break the silence and finish his thought, Ryan spoke next.
“I…I think that we need to have an af…af…afternoon where the Loggers c…come to town for autographs and pictures. I…I…Instead of g…g…going door to d…door, we can h…h…have them make d…donations then.”
“Say, that would be a great idea. And maybe we could see if the team would mind if we auctioned off some autographed baseballs and such and maybe some tickets to the next game.”
“I…I…I…can ask Coach Mann and see what h…h…h…says about it.”
“Works for me Frank,” Phil noted. “How about you mayor?”
Morton waived his hand in ambivalence.
“Then it’s done!” proclaimed Frank. “Harry, you can gather some of the players and get some Loggers stuff from Phil here to sign. Work on those tickets to if you can, okay?”
“W…will do.”
“Come with me Ryan,” motioned Phil. “Let’s go see what we can round up for signing.”
As two of the committee members walked out of the room, they were almost plowed over by Olivia who was running through the doorway. “Daddy, I need to speak with you, it is an emergency.”
Stoic and calm, the mayor continued staring at the center of the table. “Not now Olivia, not now.”
Frank noticed the look of duress on Olivia’s face and nodded at the Morton, almost encouraging him to speak with his daughter. “Go on, talk to her Mort. We are finished here.”
Looking up through the tops of his eye sockets, the mayor met the glare coming from Frank’s spectacles, hanging on the brim of his nose. “No Frank, WE are not finished!”
Kicking the chair back forcefully with his buttocks, Morton Mitchell stood up and stormed out of the room with Olivia tagging along behind him. When they reached the sidewalk in front of the department store, several elderly ladies were bustling down the sidewalk and one of them bumped into the mayor, dropping her grocery bag on the ground.
“Daddy, please this is important,” Olivia pleaded. Her father continued walking down the sidewalk and into his office, never acknowledging Olivia’s presence.
When Olivia turned away in disgust, she saw Shane approaching her.
“Olivia, have you seen mama?
“Actually Shane, I have not really had time to go anyplace. Hey, we need to talk about something…”
Shane began rambling quickly, shooting specks of saliva into the air. “Well, I cannot find her. She is not at the diner, Jack is off sick…I do not know what to do. Look, I am going home… I’ll see ya.”
“Shane, wait…”
Olivia blinked and Shane was gone.

XXVII
Thanks to the assistance of Mabel Hugart, one of the sweetest yet prudish ladies in Sheaville, Shane was able to ride home instead of running. Mabel was coming out of Sally’s Beauty Shop when Shane almost knocked her down on the sidewalk. Noticing that he was not in the mood to exchange pleasantries, Mabel asked Shane where he was going in such a hurry. Luckily, Mabel was heading in the same direction and dropped Shane off at the mouth of the hollow.
By the time Shane reached the back door of the house and entered into the kitchen, Joann had managed to take off her apron and waitress uniform and tossed it into the floor next to the sink. The house had a very staunch smell of rotten food, which was validated when Shane noticed that the kitchen trash had not been taken outside for several days.
Joann was sitting in the living room in her undergarments, digging her white sneakers repeatedly into the carpet. Equipped with a bottle of Vodka and a coffee cup, Joann was generously pouring a glass of the clear liquid and drinking it quickly.
Appalled, Shane stepped in front of her and made an attempt to pull the bottle away from his mother. “Mama, stop! The doctor said that alcohol causes problems with your medicine. Do not do this to yourself or to me.”
Joann calmly took the toe of her right foot and kicked Shane in the groin.
A blast of pain dropped Shane on the floor. Lying motionless in the floor, Shane groaned in pain as he gently massaged his genitals.
“That’ll teach you to take some comfort away from an unemployed woman,” Joann grumbled, badly slurring her words.
Shane managed to sit upright and squint threw tear-soaked eyes. “Unemployed? What are you talking about Mama?”
“It means I am done…finished, over. Jack fired me today. The son of a bitch had the flu and yet he came all the way to the diner to let me know I am fired. Pretty sad when all you do is show up for work everyday and you get let go.”
“Mama, I thought everything was fine. I mean, I know that you have been struggling with things from time to time, but everything seemed to be going so well for you.”
“And how would you know,” commanded Joann as another glass of vodka was poured. “All you do is play baseball. Every day, every night, you’re here sometimes and sometimes you ain’t. Now you cannot even play anymore. Some hope for the future you are.”
“Baseball is our hope for the future,” Shane replied. “I have a real chance here… a real chance to someday pitch in the major leagues. I cannot imagine anything else that would be better for both of us.”
“You aren’t playing. And the longer you don’t, the longer I am going to be stuck in this god forsaken town.” Joann’s words continued to slur and her voice was becoming exasperated and faint. With one half of the vodka gone, Joann Triplet was willing and able to continue the argument.
“They are appealing the decision mama. It is only going to be a matter of time before I can pitch again. And we will find you another job. I can talk to Mr. Miller or Mr. Rodney about you being a clerk in one of their stores.”
In a decisive move, Joann squeezed the neck of the bottle and launched it past Shane’s face and into the wall next to the front door. Small bits of glass ricocheted across the living room, some landing just inches from Shane’s knees.
Speechless and motionless, Shane did not know what to do next. To try to uncover the real truth, he changed the subject back to Jack Busby and the diner.
“Why did you get fired, mama? I mean, Jack had to say something about why he let you go. Most people do not get fired without good reason.”
Joann’s eyes darted back and forth across the room. “He said that I was too unstable to be a good employee. He, he said that sometimes I look fine and happy and other times I look like the grim reaper, or something like that.”
“It’s because you have some sickness mama, he knows that.”
“DO NOT CALL ME SICK! Sickness is for old people and people with, with disease. I am fine. I would be better if I could get off this damn medicine that I take sometimes.”
“The medicine is to help you,” reminded Shane. “I know that you would like to be off of it, but it keeps you well.”
“Ha,” Joann yelped. “I haven’t been well since I came back to this hellhole.”
Sliding down into the seat cushion of the chair, Joann’s eyes began to flicker and then with a slight role, her head tipped sideways and she was fast asleep.
Shane reached for a faded blue blanket from his bedroom and returned and covered Joann. While picking up large pieces of glass, Shane slowly went into the kitchen where he noticed his mother’s prescription bottles sitting on the table. Two of the three bottles were almost completely full and Shane deduced that his mother had not been taking the medicine regularly, leading to the “unstable” remark suggested by Jack Busby.
He locked the kitchen door, tossed the newspaper further towards the porch, and raced down the hollow and down Maple Street. Shane zoomed past the same familiar houses. When he reached the Mitchell home, he trotted along, looking for any signs that Chaz might be there. This was certainly a moment that he would like to see and talk with him, but the house appeared deserted
Shane got closer to town, and when he did, he observed Olivia approaching on her bicycle. She was wearing a red baseball cap and a pink short sleeve shirt and stonewashed colored shorts.
“Hey, I need to talk to you,” hollered Shane, drawing Olivia’s attention.
“Good, me to.”
“Well, I need to go first,” the pitcher insisted, panting heavily.
“I am not so sure about that,” she implied.
“All right, you first and make it fast.”
“Uh, I am not sure how to begin this story. I guess I could tell it, or just say it…”
“Just talk.”
“Okay.” Blowing air through her cheeks and making them flap against her face, Olivia looked into Shane’s frosty blue eyes and spoke shamefully. “Shane, I am pregnant.”

*****
“Okay everybody, o…o…one at a t…time,” instructed Ryan as he motioned the Sheaville Loggers players down the line of memorabilia. “And p…p…please sign n…n…neatly, this is g…going to f…fans.”
The crowd gathered at Rodney’s Department Store was creating a frenzy of activity inside and outside the store. Town gossip about the players’ reason for being in the store all at once varied, but everyone in town that day seemed content to stop by, say hello, or just observe what was happening.
The line began with manager Walter Mann and continued with Ryan Head, Chaz Martinez, and so on until everyone on the roster had a chance to autograph each piece. The plan was to auction those items off during a gathering next week to raise money for the Sheaville Fall Festival in September.
Phil Rodney had donated two shirts, a baseball cap, and two towels with an embroidered “Sheaville Loggers” logo as items suitable for raffling off. Resting behind the counter, his eyes were wide and bright as the players walked past.
“This blows,” remarked Chaz as he signed one of the white towels. “I feel like an idiot doing this.”
“Just keep moving