5 years later
“Throwing out the first pitch tonight, we have one of our hometown favorites, Easton Wylder.”
I watch from the on-deck circle as Easton walks toward the pitcher’s mound with Ford and Fenway in each of his arms. The sold-out crowd whistles and cheers as he crosses the infield, his smile a reflection of the love being showered on him.
The love he deserves and then some.
When he reaches the mound, he squats and sets down Ford with his miniature Aces uniform on and then Fenway with her Aces cheerleading outfit. He kisses both of them on the tops of their heads as he picks up the ball.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, let’s see if Easton still has the magic touch.”
When he throws it with perfect aim to the catcher, the crowd goes wild and it makes me wonder if this is bittersweet for him.
“And he does. That was a strike. But oh, hold on. It looks like little Ford wants to throw out a pitch too.”
Not really understanding what’s going on, and since he’s used to being the one Daddy plays catch with, Ford runs toward the catcher to get the ball. The catcher, Wingar, hands the ball to Ford who then throws it to Easton, the ball bouncing a few times before he picks it up.
“And that was a great throw by the little man. And oh”—the announcer laughs along with the crowd—“here comes Fenway to get her turn and by the looks of her hands on her hips, she’s not going anywhere until she gets it.”
Wingar squats back down behind the plate as Easton walks Fenny closer. She throws the ball and even though it stops well before home plate, she throws her arms up in the air in victory before waving them animatedly in excitement at all the people watching her.
“Great job, Wylders. It looks like there may be another future hall of famer—or two—in the family.”
Easton starts to head back toward me, Fenny in one hand and Ford running my way already. My dad would have loved to see this. His two grandchildren—one named after his son and the other named after his favorite ballpark—taking charge in the infield of the Aces’ stadium.
Choking back the tears, I think about how proud he would be. I look toward the dugout and imagine him sitting there, a huge grin on his face, and flashing the thumbs-up sign like he used to when I was a little girl.
And when I look back to Fenny and Ford and then to Easton, I couldn’t be prouder of the three of them, even though it’s also a bittersweet moment for me. Four and a half years. Fifty-four months since I lost him, and I still miss him every single day.
I notice Easton glancing toward the stands to where Cal sits in his official capacity for the team. Their eyes meet briefly, a quick acknowledgment of each other, before he glances to a seat above the opposing dugout where his mom sits nervously in a rare outing from her trailer.
It took a lot of work to convince her to come and sit in the crowd, but the effort was worth it because Easton deserved to have her here tonight. To have both of his parents here, regardless of the status of their work-in-progress relationships.
“Hold up a second, Easton,” Boseman says as he heads to the infield. There’s a curious look on Easton’s face. “While we have you here, we thought we might do a little something for you.”
Easton looks over to me, eyes searching to see if I know what’s going on. All I do is shrug and give him a big smile. Ford reaches up and holds my hand as Boseman continues to speak.
“We had you for most of your career. Even when you left us for a short stint, we still considered you an Austin Ace. And then you came back to play your final season with us, and we couldn’t have been happier to have you end where you began so long ago. When you retired, we knew you did it for a good reason, so you wouldn’t miss a single day of your twins’ lives, but the city of Austin still hated seeing you go. And now that you’re the lead baseball analyst for Fox Sports, we couldn’t be more proud. And so to remind you that you’ll always have a home here, that you’ll always be an Ace, we’d like to officially retire your jersey number.”
I love the shocked look on Easton’s face. The wide eyes and smile so big it’s infectious. I love that Ford and Fenny are here to be a part of it even though they’ll never remember it.
And then a green strip on the outfield wall is pulled down and there, next to his dad’s number twenty-two, is Easton’s number forty-four.
“Let’s take a look back at his incredible career. Congratulations, Easton.”
Boseman shakes Easton’s hand as the crowd cheers loudly and then he points to the jumbotron where a highlight reel of Easton’s career plays.
But I don’t turn to watch it. Instead I watch my husband as he stares at the centerfield wall with tears in his eyes, truly touched by Boseman’s gesture.
The highlight reel stops and Fenny claps her hands in that uncoordinated way two-year-olds have before planting a kiss on his cheek. Boseman hands Easton the microphone and then steps back.
“Thank you. That was totally unexpected. I’m a little speechless to be honest.” He shakes his head and takes a big breath. “There has only been one thing I’ve loved more than baseball and being an Austin Ace, and that is my family. Scout and Fen and Ford. I knew it would be hard to leave the game. I knew I’d pushed the limits with my shoulder. And then when these guys were born, I wanted to make sure I was present for every part of their childhood. I wanted to be home to tuck them in every night instead of traveling from game to game. That was important to me. So I struggled with the decision to quit the game I love before my time, leave behind the records I had chased, and walk away while at the top of my game to be the only other thing I was meant to be, besides a ball player, a dad. I thought I’d regret walking away. I thought my days of playing would be forgotten . . . so this truly is a surprise. I am honored to have played most of my career here and now I’ll always be a part of the Aces as they will always be a part of me. Thank you to everyone for your love and support over the years. Thank you.”
The fans begin standing one by one. The cheers grow louder. More people stand. And before you know it, the whole stadium is standing and paying tribute to Easton.
I have chills on my skin and a heart overflowing as Easton takes his hat off and tips it to the crowd before setting it on Fenny’s head. Her face disappears under the cap and all you can see are her curls sticking out from the back.
With the same grace he had when he played the game, Easton walks off the field, one more time. And when he reaches me, there are tears in his eyes. He struggles to hold them back.
“Surprise.”
“You knew?”
“Of course I did. Congratulations, Hot Shot.”
He sets Fenway down and pulls me in close for a hug.
“Thank you,” he whispers just above the noise of the crowd. “It’s because of you, Scout. Because of you I don’t regret a single thing.”
And when I lean back, his lips are on mine.
He doesn’t care about the thousands of people around us.
Or the two-year-olds clinging to our legs wanting attention.
Or the cameras clicking over our shoulders.
He kisses me as if I’m the only person in the world.
He kisses me with a clear mind and a full heart.
The End