KEEPING SCORE

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

            As the Cougars were 1-2, we were scheduled for a consolation game at nine am. But thunder woke me up at six, and by seven I had an email from the tournament that all the day’s games were canceled. The Saints, by virtue of their 3-0 record, were declared winners of the tournament in the U10 age bracket. Not surprisingly, the winners of the U11, U12, U13, and U14 brackets were all Saints teams, too. The email helpfully included a picture of the trophy that all winners would receive. It was about the size of my forearm.

            I rolled over and went back to sleep. A half hour later, I was violently shaken awake.

            “Mom! Mom! You overslept! When’s our game? When’s our game?”

            I blinked until the floaters cleared, then looked outside. It was raining hard enough that people would soon be making jokes on Facebook about building arks and animals walking around in pairs.

            “When was the last time you played baseball in the rain, buddy?”

            Sam wrinkled his nose. “I figured tournament games got played no matter what. So does that mean no one won?”

            I didn’t answer, just handed him my iPhone.

            He stared at the email for a long time. “It’s not fair that all the Saints teams won.”

            “The team you played wasn’t exactly terrible. I guess their older brothers are pretty good ball players, too.”

            “All I want to do is beat them,” Sam declared. “Do you think there’s any chance we could?”

            “Of course. If all the kids get food poisoning or something and can’t play a game. Then you win by forfeit.”

            “Can you give someone food poisoning?”

            “Go back to sleep!”

            Sam crawled in bed next to me, shut his eyes and was asleep again in five minutes. I lay there, propped up on an elbow, and watched him. How much longer would he do this, crawl in bed with me like a toddler? How much time did I have left?

            I was awoken for a second time by the insistent ringing of my doorbell. I pulled a robe over my tee shirt and shorts and hurried downstairs.

            It was Fawn and Fallon. They were in soaking-wet pajamas. 

            “Our mom needs towels,” one of them said. “She’s in the basement.”

            They walked in my house and started going through my refrigerator. I ran upstairs, grabbed my iPhone and all the spare towels I could hold, and headed over to Taylor’s.

            She was standing in about three inches of water. The basement carpet was soaked, and a beanbag chair was floating. At first, I thought it was the rain, but a glance at the walkout sliding glass door showed that it was doing its job. And then I saw the waterfall cascading from the ceiling.

            “I take it the caulking didn’t work.”

            I stood next to her and dropped towels on the floor near the eruption, but it was like trying to plug Niagara Falls with the finger of a tiny Dutch boy.

            “Roger picked a hell of a weekend to go fishing with his buddies,” Taylor complained.

            “Look at the weather. They’ll be back soon.”