Lisa was always Grammy. Never “grandma”. That honorific was reserved for the mother of her daughter’s hubby. Such Grandma was, like Lisa’s daughter and her dunce of a mate, about as useful as tits on a bull, as they say. Not so Grammy. She gladly unretired from the child raising game to fill the giant void around her grandkids’ love and care.
Lisa also managed to find plenty of quality time for a certain gentleman caller, a dashing old coot named Sam. Lisa felt she was too old to have a “boyfriend”, so she insisted on calling Sam her “partner.” Sam felt that made it sound like they were preparing a joint pitch for Shark Tank, but he was just fine with any label that allowed him to remain in her orbit. They had each made some mistakes of the heart in their sixty plus years and were thrilled to have found a life together.
And quite a life they had. Cruises. Candlelight concerts. Hikes. Museums. They would dutifully snap selfies at each event and Lisa would have them developed and slapped into her thick leather scrapbook within days of each date.
Among all of their adventures the young-at-heart couple found themselves spending more and more time watching baseball. Lisa realized years ago during her little league obligations she enjoyed the gameplay itself. Then the sport disappeared for her amid other callings as her own kids outgrew the sandlot. But old Sam was a rabid fan who never met a doubleheader he didn’t like so Lisa was reintroduced to our national pastime. Their town boasted a local college team plus a minor league professional squad so there were lots of convenient and affordable opportunities.
As their relationship blossomed, Lisa’s seven-year-old granddaughter Amanda Gae was struggling. She was in need of a pick me up. And some attention. To put it in lingo from the big leagues, ever since the birth of her little brother Billy she had been banished to the end of the bullpen.
Amanda Gae seemed an unlikely fan of the old horsehide, consistent with her age and generationally appropriate ants in the pants. However, it turned out she too loved it. She became a regular part of the love-struck seniors’ stadium trips. She came to love the long hours with Grammy idling away at the ballpark, of course with Sam in tow. Especially when school was out. There was plenty of time, and space on the aluminum bleachers to stretch out and enjoy the sun. Between innings they could walk the broad concourse behind home plate to get the little girl’ s wiggles out and get the old couple’s doctor-preferred 10,000 daily steps. In weak moments they all would feast on ballpark snacks at airport prices but more often would enjoy healthier options snuck in via Grammy’s seemingly bottomless purse. And always they would return to their seats just to gab. Sam was beyond smitten with Lisa but seeing her in action with little AG put him over the top.
A beautiful summer day, designated “Valentines in July” by the home team, was to be an anniversary of sorts at the ballyard for Grammy and Sam. Sam gallantly agreed to share his sweetheart for the day with their pint-sized pal. The trio headed to the stadium appropriately clad in red.
They all got along famously, as was the norm. Sam and Amanda Gae briefly disappeared on an ice cream mission, otherwise the three sat and chirped away enjoying the languid pace of the contest.
When the fifth inning rolled around the scoreboard began to show a series of romantic messages in line with the day’s unseasonal theme.
“Corny,” Lisa smiled.
Sam returned the smile. “Just keep watching.”
The board scrolled to a new message:
“Dear Grammy,
You’ll always be a grand slam in my book.
Love,
Your little slugger Amanda Gae.”
Lisa put on her sunglasses to mask her reddening eyes.
Amanda Gae was triumphant. “Sam helped me when we went down for ice cream. He said you’d be tickled. I thought you told me you weren’t ticklish.”
“Well, you tell Sam I am tickled,” Grammy sniffled, beaming at them both. “Tickled pink.”
Amanda Gae giggled. “Then Sam says you’re really gonna love the next one.” She pointed at the big screen.
“Dearest Lisa,
Make me the happiest old fool in the world and marry me.
Your partner, Sam.”
Now the sunglasses came off. Nothing could hide the happy tears.
****
Scott MacLeod is a father of two who writes in Central Florida. His work has appeared in Punk Noir, Rmag, Every Day Fiction, Bristol Noir, Coffin Bell, 10 By 10 Flash, Frontier Tales, The Yard: Crime Blog, Short-story.me and Gumshoe Review, with more forthcoming. He can be found at http://www.facebook.com/scott.Macleod.334
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Love and baseball. What could be better? ⚾️
This calls for an "aww"