In a crowded city with far too few fields and an abundance of kids, the games were limited by time, not innings. Another one was scheduled to start right away and it was important to clear the field. The victorious Bruisers and their parents walked to a pizzeria on Columbus Avenue where they commandeered a long table in the back and ordered dinner. The fathers had tall beers, the mothers chardonnay, while the players, all proud of their dirty uniforms, devoured pizza as they watched the Mets on a big screen.
Almost all the fathers were in finance, law, or medicine, and they were from well-to-do families from across the country. As a general rule they didn’t talk much about where they were from. There was always plenty of good-natured talk about college football rivalries, favorite golf courses, and such, but the conversations rarely drifted to their hometowns. They were in New York now, on the biggest stage, living the big life, proud of their success, and they considered themselves real New Yorkers.
Danesboro, Kentucky, was another world and Mitch never mentioned it. He thought of it, though, as he watched his own boys laugh and chatter with their friends. He had played all the sports the small town had to offer, and he could not remember a single game when his parents were watching. His father died when he was just a boy, and afterward his mother worked in low-wage jobs to support him and his brother, Ray. She never had the time to watch a ball game.
What lucky kids these were. Affluent lives, private schools, and supportive parents who were too involved in their activities. Mitch often worried that his kids would be too pampered and too soft, but Abby disagreed. Their school was demanding and pushed the students to achieve and excel. Carter and Clark were, at least so far, well-rounded and being taught proper values both at school and at home.
Abby was startled at the news that Luca was gravely ill. She had met many Scully partners, probably too many, from all over the world, and Luca was by far her favorite. She wasn’t keen on the idea of Mitch traveling to Libya, but if Luca said it was safe, then she wouldn’t push back. Not that it would do any good. Since he made partner four years earlier, Mitch had become a seasoned traveler. She often went with him, especially when the destination was exciting. European cities were her favorite. Between her parents, her kid sister, and a collection of nannies, babysitting was rarely a problem. But the boys were getting older and more active, and Abby feared her globe-trotting days were about to be curtailed. She also suspected, though had said nothing, that her husband’s success would mean even more time away from home.
Late that night, she brewed a pot of chamomile tea that was supposed to induce “slumber,” and they cuddled and chatted on the sofa and tried to get sleepy.
Abby said, “And you’re gone for a week?”
“Something like that. There’s no clear agenda because we can’t predict what might happen. Lannak has a skeleton crew still at the bridge, and we’re told that one of their top engineers will be available.”
“What do you know about bridge construction?” she asked with a chuckle.
“Nothing, but I’m learning. Every case is a new adventure. Right now I’m the envy of almost every lawyer at Scully.”
“That’s a lot of lawyers.”
“It is, and while I’m dashing across the desert in a jeep looking for a magnificent bridge to nowhere, which just happened to cost over a billion dollars, the rest of my colleagues will be stuck behind their desks, worrying about their hourly billing.”
“I’ve heard this before.”
“And you’ll probably hear it again.”
“Well, your timing is good. My mother called today and they’re coming for the weekend.”
No, my timing is perfect, Mitch thought. In years past he would have blurted it out and stuck another pin into his wife’s skin, but he was in the often uncomfortable process of reconciling with his in-laws. He had come a long way, but back at the beginning there had been so much territory to cover.
“Anything planned?” he asked, to be polite.
“Not really. I may have dinner with the girls Saturday and let my parents babysit.”
“Do that. You need a night out.”
The war had begun almost twenty years earlier when her parents insisted that she break off the engagement and ditch the McDeere guy. Both families were from Danesboro, a town so small that everyone knew everyone else. Her father ran a bank and the family had status. The McDeeres had nothing.
“Dad said he might take the boys to see the Yankees.”
“He should take them to see the Mets.”
“Carter would agree. And because of that, Clark is becoming a Yankee fan.”
Mitch laughed and said, “I have a brother. I remember.”
“How is Ray?”
“Fine. We talked two days ago, nothing has changed.”
A week before they finished college, Mitch and Abby were married in a small chapel on campus, in front of twenty friends and no family. Her parents were so irate they boycotted the wedding, a slap so terrible it was years before she could discuss it with a therapist. Mitch would never truly forgive them. Ray would have attended the wedding had he not been serving time in prison. These days he was working as a charter boat captain in Key West.
Mitch’s in-law rehab had now brought him to the point of being civil to them, dining with them, and allowing them to babysit their grandchildren. When they entered the room, though, walls went up around him and everything else was off-limits. They could not stay in the apartment. Mitch argued it wasn’t large enough anyway. They could not inquire about his work, though it was evident that his partnership was providing a lifestyle far above anything in Danesboro. They could not and did not expect the McDeere family to visit them in Kentucky. Mitch wasn’t going back anyway.
The law degree from Harvard had somewhat tempered their disapproval of their son-in-law, but only for a moment. The move to Memphis had been puzzling, and when things blew up there and Abby disappeared for months, they of course blamed Mitch and despised him all over again.
With time, some of the issues faded as maturity settled in. A therapist helped Abby begin the process of forgiving her parents. The same therapist realized Mitch was another story, but managed a slight breakthrough when he reluctantly agreed to at least be civil when they were in the same room. More progress was slowly made, driven more by Mitch’s love for his wife than by the manipulations of the therapist. As so often happens in complicated families, the arrival of grandchildren softened the edges and shoved even more history aside.
“And your mom?” she asked softly.
He took a sip of tea and shook his head. “Still the same, I guess. Ray checks on her once a week, or so he says. I have my doubts.” His mother was spending her final years in an assisted living facility in Florida. With dementia, she moved closer to the end each day.
“And what does one do in Tripoli?”
“I don’t know. Ride camels. Play shoot-’em-up with terrorists.”
“That’s not funny. I went to the State Department website. According to our government, Libya is a terrorist state and they evidently hate Americans.”
“Who doesn’t hate Americans?”
“The State Department says it’s sort of okay to go but take precautions.”
“Luca knows more about Libya than the bureaucrats in Washington.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go.”
“I have to go, and I’ll be fine. Our bodyguards are quicker than the terrorists.”
“Ha, ha.”