Frowning, I called her.

“Hello?”

“I got your text.” I took a bite of toast.

“Oh, good.”

“What the hell is this brother-sister dance?” I asked with my mouth full.

“Josh is going to dance with his sister Mary for one song, and then you’re going to dance one song with me.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

I nearly choked. “For an entire song?”

“Yes.”

I managed to swallow. “No fucking way, Sadie. I’m not doing it.”

“Please, Ty? You can even pick the song. Choose a short one, I don’t care, but I’ve always wanted to dance with you at my wedding. Josh is really close to his sister, and you mean so much to me—even though you’re being a big jerk about this—having a special moment where it’s all about sibling love is something we really want. Please say you’ll do it, for me.”

I groaned, knowing I couldn’t say no to her.

“It won’t be that bad, I promise!”

“There’d better be good whiskey at this wedding.”

She giggled. “There will be. Hey, what are you doing today? I took today and tomorrow off, but Josh has to work and I’m trying to move some furniture out of the room that will be the baby’s. Can you come over and give me a hand?”

“Yeah.” I took one more drink of my coffee and set the cup down. “Text me your address. I’ll be there in an hour. Do I need to wear a fucking suit for this?”

She giggled. “No. Jeans are fine. But could you please bring the outfit you’re planning to wear Saturday night so I can approve it?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yes. But you’re a pain in the ass, and this wedding is already giving me a headache.”

“Hey, I went to a lot of baseball games for you. I think I spent my entire childhood on the bleachers.”

“I thought you loved going to games,” I said.

“I loved you. Baseball was just something you did.”

After we hung up, I sat there for a few minutes thinking about what she’d said.

She had it wrong. Baseball wasn’t just something I did. Baseball was my life. Baseball was my destiny. I was never more me than I was when I was on the field, and I didn’t know who I was without it.

I’d spent the last year totally adrift, feeling untethered to anything or anyone. I suppose it didn’t help that I’d spent much of that time in self-exile, throwing anything that would fit in my left hand at whatever target I could find, trying to find my motion again.

Occasionally, I’d get close to it, and my body would almost feel like mine again. My head would clear a little. I’d latch onto some hope.

But it would never last.

Rising to my feet, I went over to my bag to pull out clothes for the day—jeans, sweatshirt, T-shirt, underwear, socks. I held the pair of balled-up socks in my hand for a moment, staring at it.

I turned sideways. Gave myself the menacing stare in the full-length mirror. Imagined I got the sign for an inside fastball. In my head, I heard my high school pitching coach talking through the physics of a pitch—the mechanics—which he insisted I had to understand if I wanted to be good.

The windup and stride. Elevation of the lead leg. Center of gravity back. Separation of ball from glove. Lead foot to mound, in line with stance foot and home plate. Pelvic rotation and forward tilt. Upper torso rotation. Late cocking. Horizontal adduction. Maximum torque at the elbow. Acceleration. Transfer of energy to upper extremity for maximum velocity.

Release.

Release.

Release.

I threw the pair of socks toward my reflection again and again and again.

But it never felt right.

I spent the rest of the morning helping Sadie empty out a spare bedroom at the house she shared with Josh. Then she sweet-talked me into ripping out the old carpeting, taping off the molding, and priming the walls.

“If you’ll stay and put the first coat of color on, I’ll love you forever,” she cajoled.

“You’ll love me forever anyway.” I set the roller back in the tray. “And I thought you wanted me to go get a haircut today.”

“You’ll have time later. What else are you going to do, mope alone in your hotel room?”

I thought about mentioning my dinner plans, but didn’t do it for some reason. “Fine.”

She smiled sweetly. “And could you also go to the hardware store and pick up the paint? I’ll give you the name of the color.”

I rolled my eyes, imagining this is what married life was like, a constant stream of do-this, do-that, get-a-haircut, shave-your-face, not-tonight-honey-I-have-a-headache, you-left-the-seat-up-again. Not for me, thanks. “Yes. Anything else?”

“I mean, if you really want to, you could pick up lunch while you’re out. I’ve got a craving for Subway.”

I wiped my hands on a wet rag, got her in a headlock and gave her a noogie. “You’re a pest. And this is the dance move I’m pulling out on the dance floor at your wedding.”

“Tyler Shaw! Don’t you dare!” she shrieked, trying unsuccessfully to get away from me. “Let me go, you big jerk!”

I grinned, feeling a little like my old self again.

After I hit the hardware store, I picked up lunch at Subway for Sadie and me. We ate, we painted—well, I painted and she watched—we bickered like siblings, laughed at childhood memories, and reminisced about our dad.

“I miss him so much.” Sadie sighed, cradling her belly. “I so wish he was going to be here to meet his grandchild.”

I swallowed hard. “Me too.”

“How about you move back here so you can see your niece or nephew grow up?”

“How about you lay off the guilt trips?”

She sighed in defeat. “Fine. I’ll just show him or her a picture and be like, ‘Well, you have an uncle, but he’s a hermit. I think he’s still alive, but he doesn’t leave his hidey hole, so I’m not sure.’”

I gave her the finger over my head, and she laughed.

“Hey, speaking of moving, there’s a box in my attic I want to give you. I found it in the house after Dad died.”

“What’s in it?”

“Just some things he saved over the years. I think he’d want you to have them.”

I nodded. It was probably memorabilia from my early baseball career, which I wasn’t sure I wanted, but I’d take it with me. Our dad had died in the middle of the season, and I’d barely had two days off to attend his funeral. Sadie had been saddled with all the details—arranging the service, settling his affairs, selling the house, emptying it out. I’d paid for everything, but I hadn’t been there to help her, which was another reason I wanted to do anything I could for her now.

She rose to her feet and put a hand on my shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go sit on the front steps and have a snack while this coat dries. The paint smell is getting to me.”

We went outside and sat on the front stoop, where we ate potato chips and watched two little girls across the street set up a lemonade stand.

Sadie waved to them. “Hi, girls!”