Free Rounding Third by Walter G. Meyer Page A

school.”
    “Are you doubling with Brickman and
Brittany?”
    “No.”
    There was an awkward pause. Rob took the
moment to try to figure out why sometimes he felt so at ease with Josh, like he
could tell him anything--well almost anything--and now he felt like Josh was a
total stranger. For a brief moment he had thought he and Josh were on the same
page, now it felt like they were in different libraries.
    “Hey,” Josh said suddenly. “I wanted to ask
you--we don’t have a game next Saturday and the Indians do. I’ve never been to
Progressive Field. You want to go?”
    “Uh, sure.”
    “Okay if my brother Mat goes with us? He’s
never been either.”
    “Sure.” For a second he thought about asking if
he should bring Meg, then remembering Meg’s opinion of Mat, said nothing and
realized he wasn’t eager for Mat to come along either.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
                9
    Tuesday as Josh pulled into the driveway he
said, “Up for a quick game?”
        
“Can’t. Today’s envelope day.”
        
“Envelope day?”
        
“April fourteenth. The day before tax day. Ever since I was a little kid we’ve
all gone to the office to help my dad. We stuff envelopes with tax returns,
seal them, weigh them, put postage on them and box them so he and my mom can
take them to the post office tomorrow. It makes for a pretty long evening, so
we send out for pizza and make a night of it. Kind of a warped family
tradition.”
        
“Sounds fun. Can I come?”
        
“Uh, if you want to.”
        
“I’ll have to call my mother and make sure it’s okay.”
               
*                     
*                     
*                     
*                     
*
    “We brought reinforcements,” Rob announced as
they entered the office. “He volunteered to help.”
     “Hi, Josh,” Mrs. Wardell said. “What
happened to your face?” Then she turned to Rob and asked, “Is he the guy you
collided with?”
    Josh gave Rob a puzzled look as Rob said,
“Yeah.”
    “Thanks for coming,” she said, “The more
hands, the faster this will go.”
    They quickly settled into checking, folding,
stapling stuffing, sealing and stamping.
    “We should teach Josh the songs,” Marilyn
Wardell said.
    “No!” both of her children protested.
    “Songs?” Josh asked.
    “Don’t ask,” Rob warned.
    “Well, you can’t just throw that out then
leave it hanging,” Josh said.
    All of the Wardells looked at Rob. He said,
“When we were little, we used to make up songs to pass the time. Stupid stuff.”
    Meg went on, “Like to the tune of Michael
Row Your Boat Ashore we’d sing, Bobby seal the envelopes, alleluia...”
    “The later it got, the worse the verses got,
but the funnier we thought they were,” Mr. Wardell said, laughing.
    “I suspect this didn’t end when the kids were
little,” Josh said, smiling.
    “Mom, don’t,” Rob, begged.
    But it was too late and his mother broke
into, “ On top of the tax forms, with IRS fees, I lost the address labels
when somebody sneezed...”
    A couple of pizzas and several dozen bad
verses later, she reached for a form, but there were none left.
    “Is that really it?” she asked. She and her
husband looked around but could find no more work.
    “It’s only 8:30,” he said. He looked at Josh.
“We’re usually here until midnight. Of course the stack gest smaller every year
as we do more stuff online, but thanks. You were a big help.”
    “It was fun.”
    “You have to understand, Josh has a warped
view of fun,” Rob said.
    “Thanks again,” Mr. Wardell said. “Bobby
tells me you guys are going to see the Indians on Saturday?”
    “Yep, should be fun. I haven’t been to a game
since we moved here.”
    “After all your help here tonight, the least
I can do is buy your ticket and give Bobby money to get you a hot dog