Skeletons in the Rain

CHAPTER 6 | 10 YEARS AGO

It was hot.

Maybe the hottest afternoon of the year so far.

"A swing and a miss! Wait! Somebody missed the sign," said the sports commentator on the small TV. "For whatever reason Medina is going to third base and... he's out!"

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Abraham shouted, putting his empty beer bottle on the ground.

"Language," reproached Ismael.

"Sorry, compadre, but I mean... Come on! Did you see that? The guy is missing at least two chromosomes!" His voice raised even louder. As usual, Abe was using sports as an escape valve. "Want another cold one?" He asked while popping his fourth beer with his Navegante del Magallanes keychain bottle opener.

"Cold one?" the priest stared at his own Polar. It was almost full and very foamy.

"I know," Abe admitted, aware of the irony that their 'cold ones' had been lukewarm since before the first inning. "Hey! It's not the taste, but the numbness waiting for you at the bottom of the bottle, right? Anything to ease the pain."

"Why get all rattled up about Medina? There's no way he would have stolen third and gotten away with it."

"Why?" Abraham wondered.

"Because stealing is a sin."

"That's a bad joke, even by your standards."

"So you say."

"Yeah. And in my house, my word is the law."

Abe clanked his bottle against Ismael's as if to toast. They were both sitting on comfortable plastic chairs in the half-built room by the hawthorn tree in his patio.

"What are you going to use this room for once it's done?" Ismael asked him.

"Keep all my stuff."

"Right, because you are a hoarder."

"Rather be a hoard-er than just a plain whore." Abe laughed.

"Language," Ismael said, failing to keep a straight face.

Once his laughter died down, Abraham looked up. "Actually, once I finish the home office here, I'll be able to spend more time with my two ladies."

As sweltering hot Sunday afternoons went, this was one for the ages. Neither the shade nor the drinks did much to ease the heat, and yet Abraham wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world. The deep cobalt blue sky above them was gorgeous, and that peaceful quietude unique to San Isidro—sprinkled with Ofelia's voice as she played cops and robbers with Marcelo inside the house—was all he needed to recharge his batteries before Monday morning came all too soon, accompanied as always by a deluge of stress.

Not that he wasn't stressed out now. Just like every year, once the Round Robin started, stress took hold of him and wouldn't let go; something that had everything to do with the turncoats among his men. He was not fond of Medina. The guy had played for a different team not two weeks ago! Abe detested the concept of reinforcements in the LVBP.

Why would they bring 'more talented' players from other teams to replace the ones that got you to the finals? he thought bitterly, convinced it sent the wrong message. Whatever happened to loyalty It's irrelevant if your team doesn't make it. As long as they deem you special, you can still win a championship if you jump ship. That's bullshit. Besides, they are abandoning their players.

"'For many are called, but few are chosen.'"

Abe snapped out of his reverie.

"Said somethin', compadre?"