^'I left it in your garage last summer. How are you, Bern?"
The two old friends embraced.
^'Sheila, you lucky thing, you look terrific." Nancy smiled. "Is it overwork or the Scarsdale?"
Thank God Nancy never really noticed. She once told Sheila she was looking marvelous while they were talking on the telephone.
As the salutations subsided, the Ackermans noticed an extra member of the Beckwith party. Bob hastened to explain.
**This is Jean-Claude Gu6rin, a visitor from France."
"Hi. I'm your Uncle Bemie, this is Aunt Nancy —and the tall kid over there sinking hook shots is my son, Davey."
"Very pleased to meet you," Jean-Claude said to them both. He held out his hand to Bernie.
''He's very cute/' whispered Nancy Ackerman to Sheila.
''Does he play ball?" Bemie asked Bob confidentially.
"He's kind of tired from the plane trip, Bern. Besides, I don't think Softball's big in France."
"Oh," said Bemie, and then loudly and slowly told the visitor: "You see, every year the fathers and the sons play Softball. It's an annual event. Held every year."
"Oh," the boy replied politely.
"You're gonna love it," said the host, and added, ^'Beckwith, take your squad over to the feeding station. Give Jean-Claude a charbroiled burger. After all, this may be our last year. The surgeon general says the damned stuff's carcinogenic. Ice cream may be next. I'll see you guys in about an hour."
"Where you going?"
"Inside, back to the tube. The Sox and Yankees are tied two-all."
Bernie chugged into the house. Bob now turned to his "squad" to lead them to the barbecue pit. But Jessica had already wafted off. And Sheila was —or seemed—deep in conversation with Nancy Ackerman and the psychiatrist next door.
Paula and Jean-Claude had waited loyally.
"Come on, Dad," said Paula, tugging at his arm. "Let's start having fun."
"Wanna go to a movie sometime, Jess?" asked Davey Ackerman.
"The name is Jessica. And no, I wouldn't. I don't go out with juveniles."
"I'm fourteen months older than you."
"Chronology's irrelevant."
'Tou think you're a hot shit but you're not, Jessie. Besides, there are lotsa fish in the sea."
"Good. Go marry a fish."
"I'm not marrying anybody. I'm gonna be a professional ball player."
"I couldn't care less, David/' Jessica retorted, and then, "What sport?"
"I'm deciding between baseball and basketball. Or maybe pro soccer. My dad says soccer's gonna be huge in the eighties. I can kick with both feet."
"Not at once, I assume," said Jessica.
^'Very funny. You'll be sorry when I'm a superstar."
"Don't count on it, creep."
When it came to Jessica Beckwith, the normally pugnacious Davey Ackerman, who would slug at the drop of an epithet, had the patience of a saint. If only Jessie weren't so darn good-looking, he might cure himself of the painful crush he had on her. Or if only she'd recognize his many athletic virtues. But as things stood, he was violently jealous of everything that caught her attention, even inanimate objects like books. Small wonder, then, that he now fixed upon the presence of Jean-Claude Guerin.
"Who's that foreign kid?"
"He's from abroad. A visitor."
"Who's he visiting—you?"
"Well, let us just say the Beckwith family, of which I am a member."
"Where's his parents?"
"None of your business. Actually he's an orphan," said Jessica.
"No shit," said Davey. "You guys gonna adopt him?"
This had never occurred to Jessica.
"I'm sorry, but Vm not at liberty to say."
* * * '
"Play ball!"
At last the annual Bemie Aclcerman Cape Cod Invitational Softball Game was under way. Parents and children had been split into two teams, led by Bemie and Jack Ever, a computer scientist. Bemie won the toss and got first draft choice. Purely on ability and all-important killer instinct, he selected Davey Ackerman.
Bob was chosen by Jack Ever on the seventh round. Though a distinguished academic, he was, as Bernie had to tell him candidly, a pretty mediocre catcher. The signing up of Nancy Ackerman and Patsy Lord as short-center fielders made the contest nominally coed. Paula Beckwith joined the senior citizens and toddlers seated on the first-base line, prepared to cheer her daddy. Jessica sought solitude beneath a tree with Baudelaire (in English). Hardly in a sporting mood. Sheila went to walk along the beach.
The shore was empty. Far up the beach, a solitary child was playing in the sand. But that was all.
She had realized something in the moment that they reached the party. Seeing all their friends and pseudo friends, she knew at once that things would never be the same. Not just because they all looked up to her and Bob. To hell with images. But Bob was no longer funny, loving, faithful Bob. Ever since she'd seen that child, the one certainty that had defined her life had disappeared.