I keep my expression blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I dropped my beanie.”
“Whatever you say, babysitter.” His voice is low and intimate, and I need that to stop as soon as possible.
“Details, Ransom. What’s the big idea?”
He nods and slips off his jacket, hanging it over the railing before rubbing his palms on his jeans. Is he nervous about telling me? “Nothing that hasn’t been done a hundred times. I’m not inventing the wheel or anything. But if I lay turf down there, get some good equipment and use few guys I happen to know as the talent, this could be a year-round training facility. Special off-season programs my teammates could help with. Workshops for parents who want to get involved but don’t want to step on their kids’ toes. Most of the coaching would be volunteer-based, and we can have a cap on the number of kids to start so we don’t get swarmed before we get a rhythm. But I think it could work.”
A free program. That’s what he’s talking about. Professional players and coaches helping kids who otherwise wouldn’t be able to afford it. “What brought this on?”
“You,” he says instantly, leaning his elbows on the railing and looking out over the space thoughtfully. “And my issue with those swimming lessons.”
I stand beside him in silence, waiting for the rest.
He makes a face. “It doesn’t make sense unless you know how it started, does it? My father was a big football star in high school. Absolute legend, everyone who knew him said it. He was going to be the next guy. The next Brady or Marino. My mom got pregnant with Joan senior year, but they didn’t care because they knew he was going all the way and money wouldn’t be an issue.”
That obviously wasn’t how things went down. “What happened?”
“Bad luck happened. Severe concussion and fractures in his spine. He got tossed like a sack of potatoes and, not knowing he was hurt, both teams piled on. The scout would have come to the next game, but there was no way he’d be able to play it after that. He lost the season and their future in one play.”
“That must have been hard for him.”
“It must have been. From what I’ve heard, he was drunk for years. Through his wedding and Joan’s first steps, through four jobs and a downsizing. But then I was born and he sobered up, seeing me as his second chance. Unfortunately, I was a skinny kid and I hated football. But a friend commented on my throwing arm when he saw me playing at a backyard get-together. He mentioned baseball. And my father became an expert overnight.”
Elliot actually smiles at that, looking over at me. “That man knew the stats and history better than anyone I’ve ever met. We played catch every night and he’d tell me about a new player. We were discovering it together and I loved everything about it. Especially the time we spent together. Just me and Dad. At first.”
He tugs at my heart. He always has.
“Some parents forget their children are separate people with their own dreams,” I say softly.
“Some people forget their children are children,” he counters, his expression hardening. “I think Mom didn’t like being left out, so when Joan mentioned that she liked ice skating, she turned into a tiger mom about it. It became this weird competition. Who spent more hours at training? Who won what medal? But Joan and I weren’t the ones competing with each other. It was our parents. Because of them we had drills instead of slumber parties. Bruises and blood blisters instead of summer vacations. They never asked us if it was what we wanted. They told us it was and we believed them.”
He looks down and I realize my hand is on his arm, but I leave it there.
“I was worried it was happening again with Rue and Adria.”
Which is why the swim lessons freaked him out. “So what you want to do here is—”
“Flip the script,” he says before I can finish, looking into my eyes. “The way you did with your nanny wrangling.”
“Me?”
“It was the story about your sister inspiring you that made me think of it. I have all this knowledge, a lifetime of learning what it takes, what the limits are, all of it. But there was bitterness and regret around how I got it. So much so that the idea of Rue picking any sport was giving me hives.
“But if I do this, teach kids who love baseball everything I know, then it becomes a gift instead of a bad memory. The way you took that feeling of helplessness and flipped it so you could do what you do to make other kids feel safe and cared about.”
The way he’s looking at me is a caution, but I try to stay focused on the conversation. “I love this idea.”