“What time today?” I ask. “You do realize tomorrow is now today since we’re past midnight.”
“Are we? It’s at two. My head should be clear by then.”
“It will if you stop now.”
“Yes, mother.”
“You know I hurt with you,” I offer.
“I know and I love you for it. Wish you were here to make it better.”
“Like how?”
“Suck me off.”
“Wish I could. Best get some sleep now.”
“Wait,” he says. “How’d you do?”
“Eight innings, gave up two runs, and get this, another hit.”
“No.”
“Yep. A single that you or anyone else would have made a double.”
“Great news. You have now brightened my outlook, so let’s quit while we’re ahead.”
“Okay.”
We close with “love,” and I fall into a heavy sleep.
* * * *
The next day, I fidget, checking the time and adding two hours for St. Louis. I do laundry, run errands, return my brother’s call. He follows my stats and kids me about the hit.
“You’ve got a batting average,” he says.