No Peddling in Baseball

Author's Note: Steamboat, with regard to your question about AIGT, Not weird! Alas, the editing process never ends. I'm combining some of the smaller chapters to make longer chapters that flow better. No major changes to the story, just some minor editing, and regrouping. I work on it a little here and there so as not to get bogged down. Originally, there were 152 chapters. Currently, there are less than 120. However, all of the material is still there. I stopped today with the revised version of chapter 28. If you open chapter 29, you will see that it has not yet been edited and that the original title was chapter 60 something. I am not, as you say, moving the epilogue. It occurs naturally each time I combine chapters elsewhere in the story.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Rabb Residence

San Diego, California

0642 HRS

With an infant feeding spoon in one hand, Sarah Mackenzie-Rabb peers over the top of her coffee cup and chews on her lower lip as she swallows her own laughter.

Her daughter, seven-month-old Shannon sits in her high chair distracted from her morning meal a strained spinach and pineapples and looks at her brother Noah, who is 4 1/2 weeks older and seated in the chair next to hers, as if she suspects he belongs in a special zoo for cognitively impaired beasts.

Behind the cacophony of laughter and raucous noise pollution he's creating, courtesy of his plastic spoon banging happily against his plastic plate, a faint taping sound is heard at the door to the Rabb's back porch. Without waiting for an answer, Elizabeth Hawkes pokes her head in the door and calls out above the noise, "It's just me and Ellie."

"Come on in." Mac says without bothering to leave the stool positioned strategically between the two high chairs. Setting down her coffee cup on the kitchen bar, the marine reaches out and plucks seven-month-old Ellie from her mother's arms as her neighbor; clad in shorts, flip-flops, and a hooded sweatshirt makes her way into the kitchen where she will help herself to the coffee pot and the aromatic dark roast within.

Mac smiles at the sandy-haired girl in her arms. "Hello, Miss Ellie. What's up?"

The baby burbles happily and blows bubbles in her own saliva.

Adding a teaspoon of sugar to her cup, Skates groans aloud. "You mean besides her? She has been for the last 12 hours."

Walking over to stand beside Mac so she can get a good look at the two youngest members of the Rabb household, Skates declares dryly as she points at Shannon, I don't know what possessed me to see if our girls were ready to be separated at night while Keeter is away. I can pretty much keep Ellie occupied during the day, but at night, when he's not there, she becomes one very unhappy little girl. Separating the two of them at the same time was a bad idea. We haven't slept a wink…" Skates runs her fingers affectionately through her daughter's motley tuft of hair. "Have we, Firefly?"

Mac chuckles when the baby offers her mother a damp and toothless smile. "Well, she's all smiles now?"

"She would be."

"You could have brought her over during the night or come and gotten Shannon. Either option would have worked. You know where the key is."

"Oh sure. You wake up in the morning and your daughter isn't in her crib…"

"Beth, she can barely crawl. I wake up and she's not in her crib, she's either in the shower with Harm or she's at your house. Those are my options. Now, of course, if she's in neither of those places… Somebody's going to die. But I would check those two places before I went on the bloodiest rampage this world has ever seen."

Skates tilts her head to one side and nods. "What's her problem anyway? Why is she looking at Noah like she suspects he belongs in a straitjacket?"

"She always looks at him like that when he bangs things together. You know that. He thinks he's making music. She thinks he's certifiable."

"She looks like Harm when she does that."

"I know. He looks me the exact same way when he's not so secretly questioning my sanity."

Keeter doesn't bother with strange looks. He just comes right out and asks me, "Woman, have you lost your mind?"

"How's the new house? Feeling familiar yet?"

"it's coming along. I couldn't possibly have gotten this far this fast without you and Harm helping out as much as you have. I swear I don't know what Keeter was thinking. I mean, I leave the Navy and he goes and signs up to do test flights on new aircraft! There once was a time, not so very long ago, I would've given anything to be in the backseat of one of those babies. Wanna know what my most prevalent thought now is?"

Mac takes a not so wild, educated guess and hums quietly, "He's got a seven-month-old baby at home and he's going to voluntarily climb into the cockpit of one of those newfangled computerized flying monstrosities and blow himself to bits."

"However did you guess?" Skates queries sarcastically.

Mac nods in understanding. "Still, trust me, if he ever voluntarily takes himself out of the air, that will scare you more."

Wide-eyed, and suddenly stricken, the retired pilot visibly flinches. "God, I forgot about that. Harm did do that, didn't he? But he's back up there now. He's okay, right?"

"As okay as he ever will be. He's through blaming himself, doesn't mean the experience hasn't left him with a few gnarly scars."

"You're right. The thought of Jack Keeter not flying… that would be infinitely worse"

"So, what are you gonna do?" Mac smiles for his benefit as she gently pushes her son's hands out of her way and spoons baby food into his mouth which, he immediately spits out. "Oops, sorry, wrong kid." She acknowledges her mistake.

"Suck it up, and roll with the punches… Beyond that, on a more practical note, I'm going to take out a life insurance policy, make her the beneficiary, and open a savings account for her. Start dropping a little into it here and there so that if he does head off into the wild blue yonder never to return, she'll have something to fall back on… even if it is just money… He won't eat her baby food? I thought Noah ate anything that wouldn't eat him first."

"Ellie already has money." Mac shrugs. "I don't think he likes pineapple. He will eat other baby food that does have the spinach in it. Shannon loves this one, but he always spits it out."

Skates nods. "Aunt Ellie left enough to get her through college, but life does not stop the day we graduate."

Coming into the kitchen, catching only the tail end of the conversation, Laura frowns. "Gosh, I sure hope not. I like school, but I don't wanna spend my whole life there!"

Skates chuckles. "Good morning, Laura."

"Hey, Beth." On her way to the cabinet that holds her faithful sidekick's favorite brand of Kibble, Laura pauses long enough to greet the trio of little people in the room. "Mornin' babies."

Shannon clumsily offers Laura a messy fistful of baby food.

Laura manages to smile even as she winces, "No thank you. You eat it. I'll get my own."

Mac offers. "Your uncle made you waffles to go with your eggs and sausage. Your plate is in the microwave. There's cantaloupe in the fridge, and your lunch is on the counter."

Laura nods. "Okay, but I have to feed Candy first. If I don't she will steal my food before I can get it to the table."

As she walks away, Noah reaches out for his cousin, complaining cantankerously as he momentarily forgets about his music and opens and closes his little fists in midair.

Laura rolls her eyes. "No-ahhhh, chill, little man. I'm not going anywhere." She backtracks and stands awkwardly on tiptoe, kissing the crown of the boy's head because it's the only spot she can find that appears to be free of mashed banana and soggy Cheerios. "Dude, you and me… we talked about this… the food… it goes in your mouth."

In response, Noah simply offers her his spoon which, she happily accepts and gently bangs against the tray of his high chair. Noah squeals with laughter and, a moment later, when Harm steps into the kitchen tucking his uniform shirt in at the waist, his son throws a handful of banana mash at him.

Swallowing his momentary flash of irritation, Harm grabs the dish towel hanging on the front of the oven door and wipes the goo off himself before placing his fists on his hips and eyeing the boy-child with mock severity. "I suppose you think that's funny; do you?"

Noah clasps his chubby little hands together clumsily with glee; mashing more banana between his fingers.

Raising an eyebrow, Harm looks to his wife.

"Don't look at me. How many times do I have to explain it? Never get dressed to go anywhere until this little guy has been fed, hosed off, and all food has been put safely away. It's not rocket science."

Friday, June 26, 2009

Scripps Memorial Hospital

Professional Office Building\Physical Therapy Department

1857 HRS

Physical therapist, Charlie Waters, an uncommonly tall man of Jamaican dissent smiles brightly; his teeth a startling white contrast for his café au lait skin tone. He winks at his patient; his eyes the color of the Caribbean. "Okay, brown eyes. Sit up, you can put your shoes back on. How's that new walker treating you? You've had it for a couple of weeks now. Surely that's enough time to know if you be needin' any adjustments."

Laura works her way into extra-long socks that are shockingly vibrant shades of purple and yellow. "It's fine. You don't have to adjust it. Uncle Harm already did last week. He made it just a teensy bit taller, and he tightened up the brake too. Plus, a tiny little screw fell out of my brace yesterday. She picks up her leg brace from the end of the therapy mat and turns it over so that the posterior side of the brace is facing up. See, this one right here." She points. "He put it back in."

The therapist picks up the brace and examines it closely. "Looks good as new to me. It still works OK? It's not giving you any trouble?"

Laura shrugs and shakes her head. "Uncle Harm fixed it, and my walker too."

"Uncle Harm sounds quite handy. I thought he was a Navy lawyer." Charlie teases.

"He is, silly."

"So, when did he have time to learn to fix leg braces and walkers."

Laura shrugs again. "I don't know. I guess maybe he made some time when he got me."

Charlie chuckles. "Well, that was awfully nice of him."

"I know, right!"

Charlie slides off his perch on the edge of the raised therapy mat and settles on his knees in front of her. "Laura, I was joking." He picks up one of her neon colored high top sneakers from the floor and helps her on with it. "He helps take care of you. He should know how to do those things because you need somebody who knows how to do those things. Parents learn how to do new things every day when their kids need something. It's normal."

"Not for me, Charlie. At least not before Aunt Mac and Uncle Harm. Mom doesn't know how to make walkers taller. She doesn't have a whole bunch of tools. Neither does Mimi. You can say it's normal if you want to. To me, it's pretty freaking cool. I mean, the screw just fell out on the floor and he picked it up and put it right back in. It's not even loose anymore, and he didn't get mad and say I broke it. He didn't yell because braces are expensive. He didn't even say go to your room."

"I see. So, what you're saying is, you're living the good life."

Laura bobs her chin enthusiastically. "Good… and noisy."

"What makes you say it's noisy?"

"You try living in a little house on the beach with two lawyers, two babies who don't like to sleep at night, and a big black dog who likes to growl at seashells, and see if your life is quiet."

The therapist eyes Laura's service dog speculatively. "I've never heard her make a sound."

Suddenly aware that she is the topic of conversation, Candy picks up her head, yawns from her resting place on the floor 10 feet away from the therapy mat and looks to Laura; waiting for a recognizable command. When one does not come immediately, she lays her head back down on her paws but keeps a watchful eye on the girl.

Knowing that their therapy session is nearly ended without any need to look at the clock on the wall, Mac leaves one of the few chairs meant for guests and steps closer to the mat. "She rarely ever doesn't make a sound. Except when on the beach, and that's a fairly new development. A few months ago, she picked up a seashell in her mouth, intent on giving it to Laura. A small crab crawled out from inside the shell and pinched her on the nose. Since then, she growls at seashells."

Charlie comically rubs the end of his own nose. "In that case, I don't blame her. I might growl too."

Laura giggles.

"You're lookin' good, sweet thing, and you're gettin' stronger every day. You don't need me to fix a thing. Get out of here. Go home. Play with your noisy cousins. Away with you! I'm kicking you out. Don't come back until next week."

"I'm getting stronger?"

"As if you don't know it."

"Strong enough to get a bicycle?" Laura tries hopefully.

"I don't know if I like the sound of that. All that repetitive motion isn't going to be good for your joints."

Laura scowls. "Can I at least play baseball this summer… There's no peddling in baseball."

"Really? I thought there was no crying in baseball."

"Charlie! Will you please be serious?"

"Okay, I'll be serious, but just for a second. Can you seriously swing a baseball bat without falling over?"

Laura shrugs. "I don't know." She adds in a singsong voice, "But, there's only one way to find out."

Charlie mulls this over.

Laura watches and waits with big eyes.

Charlie makes a funny sound with his tongue inside his cheek. Aunt Mac lends a smidgen of support. "She can swing a golf club without falling over… Almost every time."

Charlie stares at his young patient for a long moment.

Laura doesn't move. She doesn't speak. She doesn't breathe.

Charlie points his finger. "This weekend, you practice swinging a baseball bat on the beach where the sand is soft. You don't even have to hit a ball. Just swing the bat. If you come back to therapy on Monday covered head to toe in ugly bruises… No baseball."

Laura grins ear to ear. "Yes!"