Graham
“Keep sending the heat, Black.”
Joe, our catcher, is a two-time Gold Glove winner, and one of the most impressive players behind home plate. Sometimes it’s difficult to build comradery, but we’ve meshed well since the beginning. Like playing with Rico, it’s an effortless exchange of the ball with someone I fully trust.
“You know it,” I shout over the roaring crowd. He tosses me the ball and pulls his mask down over his face. His grin widens as he backs away from the pitcher’s mound to his rightful spot behind the plate.
I pick up the chalk bag, throwing it in the air and allowing it to land on the back of my hand, and then toss it back up to catch it, like I did when I was young. Sweat beads under the brim of my hat, not from nerves, but from the humidity. I pull it off, taking a second to live in the moment.
The bleachers are packed with fans enjoying an afternoon of baseball with family and friends, but not a single one of them is a familiar face. I wish Kennedy and Ben could’ve been here. Without a chance to call her before the game, my day has been off. Because this is a televised game, I place my hat over my heart and wink at the camera. I’m not even sure she’ll see it, but if she’s watching, she’ll know it’s for her.
My attention turns to home plate. Joe crouches down, his glove prepared to grab anything I throw his way. The next batter has been on a streak in the league, averaging a homerun every game, but I’ll be damned if I let him connect with this ball. Joe gives me the signal, and I shake my head, forcing him to give me another. When I see what I want, I nod once, set up the pitch, and watch as the ball soars over home plate. Joe stands and throws it back to me, his grin enough to excite me for what’s still to come in the inning.
I’ve never once pitched a no-hitter, but at the bottom of the fifth inning with not one of their players gracing the bases, it feels like it’s between my fingertips. No one can take this away from me. It’s mine to keep, and I’ll be damned if I fuck this up for myself.
As the batter prepares for his last chance to touch my fast ball, I close my eyes, listen to the wind whipping through the stadium, and inhale the summer heat. When I open them, the batter and I lock stares, and I grin, knowing he’s about to go back to the dugout.
The pitch feels as natural as loving the game does. The threads leave my hand. It’s simplistic and beautiful in the way only a sport can be, weaving magic in the players and those who sit in the stands.
The umpire signals the out, and I have a small celebration before preparing to take out the next batter. To keep the heat alive in my shoulder, I swing my arm around. From the dugout, the head coach walks toward the mound, his hand up, calling for a timeout.
I swallow the lump in my throat. Coaches don’t walk out to the mound unless they’re pulling a pitcher, or to give one a pep talk. I’m on fire, so why would he be heading my way?
Joe’s quick on his heels, his mask on top of his head and his eyebrows pinched. At least I’m not the only one confused.
“Black,” Coach calls. His shoulders are slumped forward, and his attention is on his feet as he approaches me.
“What’s going on?” Joe asks, covering his mouth with his glove as he speaks.
“I’m on a roll, Coach. You can’t pull me out now. I’ve never felt better. I think I can do this,” I plead.
“There’s no doubt in my mind you can, son, but your game is done for now. Head to the locker room.”
“What are you talking about?” Inside my glove, my nails dig into the leather to calm myself. There’s no way I’m having this moment stolen from me.
The crowd reads the energy on the field and responds with disgruntled boos. Coach must sense my anger boiling close to the edge. He steps forward, his discomfort evident in the way he avoids looking me in the eyes. What the hell is going on?
“Coach, with all due respect, spit it out. You’re about the pull the guy out of the game of his career. The least you can do is be honest with him.” Joe stands beside me like a man willing to go to battle for his teammate.
“I don’t want to pull you from this game, Black, but you have shit going on at home that needs your attention.”
“Coach.” Joe steps closer to me. He can tell I’m close to losing it.
“But Coach, whatever it is it can wait ‘til after this game, I’m sure. I need to pitch this game.” There is nothing on this planet that could remove me from this mound.
The umpire steps towards us, needing to get the game moving along before the fans start to riot. Coach holds up his hand, telling him he needs another second.
“Fuck!” Coach yells, and Joe and I jump back, surprised by his reaction. “Graham, listen to me, your boy is missing. There are two officers in the locker room ready to escort you to the airport. You. Need. To. Get. Home.”
My hand is heavy, and the glove slips to the mound, sending up a small puff of dust. The ball rolls into the grass. My surroundings still, and I’m stuck inside of a tunnel, trapping any clear thought I might have.
“I’m not sure...” I point to my ear, thinking I’ve heard him wrong.
“Coach...” I hear Joe say.
I circle the mound, lost and unsure of what I’m supposed to be doing. The dirt puffs up around my cleats, and I kick at the edge of the grass. The crowd roars, and I wonder why Coach and Joe are still standing in front of me.
“Let me finish.” I bend down at the same time Joe fetches the ball. With my glove in hand, I stand, and suddenly, everything becomes clear. The tether that links me to my son is yanked on, and where my heart once was in my chest is now an empty vessel. “What the fuck am I doing?”
The body I’ve known my entire life suddenly is foreign. Nothing feels right. My jersey is strangling me, and I unbutton the top with no relief. My chest heaves to catch a decent lungful of air.
“Okay, Graham, let’s get you off the field.” Joe grabs tightly to my elbow, leading me to the dugout.
My team stands along the metal barrier, but I don’t see their faces as I pass. Nothing is making any sense to me. I’m moving through this moment, and everything around me is going by so damn fast, but I can’t seem to catch up. It’s like a train is barreling into the station, and I’m standing in the middle of the tracks hoping to stop the collision, but the train and I both understand there is zero hope.
“Mr. Black?” An older gentleman wearing a navy-blue police uniform steps forward. “I’m Officer Roy, and this is my partner, Officer Hughes. We’ll be giving you the escort.”
There’s no stopping. I walk past them out of the locker room. None of my belongings matter. None of this matters. The perfect game. My name on the back of my jersey. At the end of the day, the cheering crowd can be swept away, and if all I have left is my family, I’d be a happy man. Every other blessing I have in this world is only an added bonus.
“Can you explain to me what’s going on?” I lean forward, needing words to be spoken. Someone needs to clarify and prove my thoughts wrong, because right now, in my head, I’m ready to burn this entire town to the ground to get to my son.
The officers look at each other. Their silence is enough to spin my head around, and I slam my palm against the metal grate separating me from them.
“Sir”— Officer Roy turns to face me— “we don’t know much. Your son went missing around one thirty this afternoon, and we’ve been tasked to get you to the airport safely. I wish I could tell you more, and I understand how worried and confused you must be.”
“Do you have a son, Officer Roy?” The city blows past my window in a blur of red and blue lights.
“No, I don’t, Mr. Black.”
“Then please don’t tell me you understand what I must be going through.” Why do people think saying they understand what you are going through is going to fix it somehow?
“My apologies. I just meant–-”
I cut him off. “No, I know what you meant to do, and let me tell you, it won’t help. It won’t take away this sinking feeling in my stomach, knowing I was working while my son went missing. Not there to protect him. Officer Roy, my wife is at home, scared as I can only imagine, and I can’t fix this even if I’m there with her. It’s a daunting realization to understand how helpless you really are.”
We pull into the airport. The team plane is ready to deliver me to Connecticut, where my house will be like what I imagine is a scene from The First 48.
The flight attendant must have been alerted of my situation. She only greets me with a smile and a nod, allowing me to have the quiet my heart is in desperate need of.
Still feeling lost, I slump back in one of the window seats, staring out into the sunny sky. Everything in my life seems so contradictory. Nothing feels right. This life isn’t right. This was supposed to be our time, our own little piece of bliss in a world that keeps knocking us on our asses.
Searching my pockets, I find them empty. Kennedy’s voice has always had a way of calming me, to making me see reality, to know everything will be okay.
I sit up, searching for the attendant. “Can I use the phone?” I ask. She motions, giving me permission.
With the bulky phone in hand, I dial Kennedy’s cell. It rings several times. It’s a strange number, so she’s probably hesitant to answer.
“Hello?” Her voice is meant to fix the ache in my chest, but hearing the one word crack as it falls from her lips nearly breaks me. “Graham?”
Be strong for her.
“Yeah, Baby, I’m here.”
“Are you on your way home?” Something squeaks, and I imagine her sitting down at our kitchen table. Swollen, red-rimmed eyes, showcasing the hell she’s been through.
“I’ll be there in a few hours.” I take a deep breath, readying to ask the hard questions. “Ken, what happened? They didn’t tell me anything.”
“Graham...” Kennedy’s loud, heart-stopping cry is a sound I hope to never hear again.
“I’ll be home soon, okay. We’re going to find our son, Kennedy. I promise you.”
“Mrs. Black,” I hear through the receiver.
“You better go. We’re about to be wheels up anyway.” At my words, the flight attendant points to her watch. I’m secretly thankful for her moving my conversation along. No words make sense when they’re coming out of my mouth right now.
“Okay.” Kennedy sighs. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.” I hang up, hand the phone back to the attendant, and then make quick work with my seat belt.
As we ascend into the sky, I close the blind, needing a little bit of darkness. My eyes shut, and I rest back in the seat. Exhaustion takes everything out of me, and lifting my eyelids seems like an impossible task.
A flood of memories takes over my quiet, silencing any thought of Ben being missing.
“Dad,” Ben shouts across the field.
I ground the ball Rico hits to me and toss it sideways to Ben, who runs towards us. We’ve been coming out to the field every day for the last two weeks. When my son asks me to teach him everything he needs to know about baseball, I jump at the chance.
“You think you’re ready for camp?” Rico asks, sitting down on the bench and taking a long pull of water. “It’s hot as fuck out here.”
“Dude, language.” I point at Ben.
“Sorry, but it is.”
“Like I’ve never heard you speak like that.” Ben rolls his eyes. “And I think I’m ready.”
“Even if you aren’t ready, you’ll get there.” I’m not doing that parenting thing where someone tells his kid what he thinks he needs to hear. I believe he’ll always get there if he puts his mind to it.
“You guys are really good.” Ben rests forward and stares at his feet.
This is the one thing I’ve worried about. I never want Ben to think he needs to live up to who I am. That kind of pressure is never good on a kid. I fully know that pressure.
“You and me, we aren’t the same person. Lucky for you, that’s a good thing, kiddo. You never have to try to be as good as me, because you already have me beat with what’s in here.” I tap over his heart. His smile tells me I’m saying exactly what he needs to hear.
“Yeah, your dad barely has a heart,” Rico jokes, and the three of us laugh as we make our way back to the house.
Barely has a heart?
Then why the hell does it hurt so bad? Why does remembering Ben catching the ball midair break something inside of me?
I close my eyes again, fearful of what I’ll see and feel, but not capable of keeping them open. Tears sneak past my clenched lids. The darkness takes over, and I welcome it. What’s the point anyway?
“Why do you look at me like that whenever you catch me dancing in the kitchen?” Kennedy asks.
I step towards her, swooping her into my arms and swinging her around. We sway back and forth, and she rests her head on my chest. With a deep inhale, she purposefully searches for my cologne.
With her crystal blue eyes, she gazes up at me. “Why do you look at me like that?”
“Because I can’t not look at you when I’m in the room with you. Because sometimes it’s too painful to look away. Because you’re the god damn sun, and I simply revolve around you, while you brighten up everything around me.”
“Graham...”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I whisper into her hair.
The memory of how beautiful she looked that night startles me awake. Her eyes sparkled under the lights in the kitchen, and the dress she was wearing had swayed just right as she washed the dishes. My heart froze when she smiled over her shoulder. What if this breaks her for good?
“Sir, we’re about to taxi in, if you don’t mind making sure your seatbelt is on.” The flight attendant takes her own advice and finds her seat.
My stomach dips as we descend into the airport. I’ll be home soon.
There’s a taxi waiting for me on the runway. When we pull down our road, the streets are lined with police cars. Will they have the answers I need? Life continues for others while it teeters with uncertainty for us. How is that fair?
The front door opens, and Kennedy catapults herself into me. Her cry is trapped against my chest as I hold her sobbing body to my own. We collapse to the damp ground, consoling each other. Rico and my mom watch from the porch.
“Graham.” Kennedy’s tears dampen my shirt. “What are we going to do?”
I pull her off the ground and wrap her under my arm. With necessary force, I lead her into the house. Our living room is like something out of a movie.
Men in uniforms bustle around the space, coming down the steps, and through the kitchen hallway. They all have the same hollow expressions on their faces.
“Sir,” I call to the officer everyone else seems to look to for direction. “Sir.”
His smile falters when he realizes who’s standing in front of him.
“Mr. Black.” He reaches his hand out, and we shake. “We’re doing everything we can. Boots are on the ground, and all local authority has been alerted.” His explanation is full of technical jargon I don’t give a shit about. It doesn’t matter how many officers are out there. As if he realizes his slip up, he pats me on the back, leading me away from their surveillance equipment. “I promise we’re doing everything in our power to find your son.”
“Your wife has explained the situation with your father. It’s my understanding that he’s been released on parole. One of our officers looked into it, and your father’s up to date with all of his requirements appointed by the court.” The officer pulls out a notebook. “His parole officer says he checked in this morning.”
Kennedy’s hand covers her chest, and she sighs in relief. As if she realizes the reality, she stands at full attention. Her shoulders are squared, and she’s preparing herself for what’s to come next. “Okay, so if it wasn’t Mr. Black, then... umm...” Kennedy takes a deep breath, readying herself for her own question. “Then what happened to our Ben?”
“A neighbor across the way thinks he saw your son approached by someone in a black sedan. We can’t be certain, and since this is a residential neighborhood, there’s very little surveillance.”
“What’s your name?” I ask, needing to know the man who seems to be in charge of finding our son.
“Detective Franklin.” He sighs. “Can you think of anyone else who would want to hurt him or either of you?”
At this question, Kennedy pushes away from my side and paces back and forth. Her hands are near her mouth, and the corners of her eyes crinkle.
“Kennedy...” I say softly.
She’s going to chew her nails clean off if she keeps it up. Her hands fall limply at her side, defeat taking over her entire body.
“You don’t think...” She shakes her head and continues to wear a hole in the carpet. “It’s not possible. I have everything set up in case he’s released. I haven’t received a single phone call or letter.”
“Craig Daniels,” I say. “He’s the only other person on this Earth willing to risk everything to get to her and me, but he’s serving a fifteen, twenty-year sentence.”
“We’ll look into it, okay?” He turns his back, leaving us with more questions than answers, and crosses the room to relay the information to another officer.
“What do we do now?” I yell at the detective, needing direction or some kind of instructions on how to do this. How do we survive this?
“I’ll be honest with you.” His stares off in the distance. He rolls his shoulders, preparing me to buckle up for what he’s about to say next. “We have forty-eight hours, and after that, the chances of getting him back are slim to none. So, if it were my son, I’d be praying. If you aren’t a prayer kind of guy, I’d say hold onto your wife because it’s going to be a long night.”
“Explain to me what happened?” I turn to face Rico and Kennedy.
Rico holds tight to Kennedy, keeping her from slumping to the floor. I should be the one comforting her, but I can’t right now.
“Graham...” Kennedy’s eyes are puffy, and where confidence once flowed off her, she now seems to be a shell of herself. I’ve only ever seen her this lost one other time.
“Please, someone explain everything to me. I need details, or else I’m going to drive myself crazy.” I sit on the arm of the chair and stare at the floor. If I look into the faces of those who know me best, I’ll crumble.
Rico steps to my side and rests his hand on my shoulder. “Okay, man, I’ll tell you everything.” He breathes in a lungful of air and releases it. “I wasn’t here when they got home, but by the time I got here, Kennedy was frantic. She couldn’t find him anywhere.”
“Where were you?” My eyes snap to Kennedy. She feels my confusion. I’d never want her to think I lay one ounce of blame on her. Because I don’t blame her, but I still need to understand what his last moments under this roof were like. “How’d he get out of your sight?”
“Graham, he’s nine-years-old. You can’t expect her to watch his every move,” Rico intervenes.
“I’m talking to my wife,” I snap, hitting my breaking point. The details will kill me, but I’m willing to lay down on the sword to hear them.
“Graham.” My name is a plea from Kennedy’s mouth. While I can’t stand not knowing, she can’t bear the weight.
“No, I need to know. Our son... Our son is out there, and we have no idea where he is, or who he’s with, or if he’s even safe.” I clench my fist and turn to Rico. “Please, keep going.”
“We searched all the neighboring streets, yelling his name until we were hoarse. I spent the last hour going door to door asking if anyone has seen him.”
“And?” I swallow the lump at the back of my throat.
“I’m going to lay down,” Kennedy whispers. Her shoulders slink low, and tears stream like a rapid river down her face. She kisses me quickly on the cheek and heads up the stairs. It seems like a lifetime since we were in the hotel room last night.
Everything inside of me tells me to go after her. My feet don’t budge, like they’ve been cemented to the floor, rendering me helpless. That’s exactly what I am. The only thing I can do is sit here while every god damn police officer this side of the damn border searches for my son. My son.
Is he scared? Is he cold? Hungry? Since Ben’s come to live with us, I’ve never not known where he was at any given minute of the day. He’s never more than fifty feet away from Kennedy or me. He’s the heartbeat of this house, and without him here, bringing life to these walls with his infectious laughter, the house suddenly seems dead and unlivable.