Free Home Run: A Novel by Travis Thrasher Page A

them. A bunch of kids in faded red T-shirts with Bulldogs printed across the front were walking up the sidewalk like little possessed dwarves haunting his nightmares. A couple of mothers were following them as they all marched into the hospital.
    “Oh, man. The kids are here.”
    “Who are they?”
    “My brother’s baseball team.”
    Helene let out an incredulous moan as the group converged in an animated circle nearby. “Your brother is the kids’ baseball coach ? Next time why don’t you just shoot Bambi?”
    Then yesterday walked in with the kids and glanced over in Cory’s direction.
    For a moment, he couldn’t move or do anything as he stared at her.
    Emma Hargrove stood there looking a bit shocked herself, staring at him as the kids ran around her. She crossed her arms and suddenly appeared uncomfortable, like she was freezing in her short-sleeved shirt even though it was still warm outside.
    She looks the same as that young girl I left ten years ago.
    Helene smiled as she took a drag from the cigarette.
    “Uh oh,” she said to Cory in a hushed voice. “There’s a story here.”
    Not just one story, Helene. A whole book of them.
    Cory was about to act when a couple of obvious newshounds sniffed their way into the hospital and spotted him standing there.
    “There he is,” one of the reporters said.
    “Cory Brand,” another announced to the hospital and the rest of the world.
    Like all paparazzi and reporters, the couple suddenly mutated like a pack of zombies. Yet Cory almost welcomed them, since it ended whatever moment was about to happen between Emma and him.
    Helene dropped her cigarette and prepared for battle. “Game face, Cory.”
    He could say a lot about her, but Helene Landy knew how to sweet-talk strangers and how to work a hungry crowd. The reporters seemed to scurry toward them from all directions as Helene fronted Cory with a smile and a sharp look. Nobody in the entrance to the hospital would doubt that this woman would plant her heel in your foot if you didn’t watch yourself.
    “Good evening, folks. I’m Helene Landy—”
    Which meant nothing; they were here to see the ball player with the bandage on his forehead.
    “Cory Brand. Did you sustain any injuries?”
    “Cory, what happened?”
    The reporters were elbowing to get a quote and a sound bite, but Helene remained on guard, trying to shield him as he stepped up beside her. He knew the routine. Running away or not saying a word only made things worse.
    “As I was saying,” Helene said in a commanding voice, “Cory Brand is happy to report that, other than bumps and bruises, he is just fine—”
    One of the more aggressive reporters, a blonde-haired woman obviously not impressed with Cory or his agent, barked out, “Cory. How’s your brother?”
    “He’s, uh, okay.”
    “Clay Brand is resting comfortably, and while sustaining other injuries—”
    “What injuries exactly?” Ms. Barbie-Doing-Barbara-Walters demanded.
    “Cory, have you been suspended by the Grizzlies?” a wrinkled-faced journalist asked.
    “Was alcohol involved in the accident, Cory?” asked another plain-faced, suspicious stranger holding a recorder.
    Cory wanted to take the mini-recorder and jam it down the guy’s throat.
    Helene put a hand on his arm and held it firmly as she continued to talk. “A tractor was involved in the accident,” she said, elevating the mood and defusing the intensity. “And Mr. Brand, out of love for his brother, has offered to stay in Okmulgee and take his brother’s place as coach of the local kids’ baseball team.”
    Say what?
    Cory looked at her with a disbelieving glance, just like the rest of them. There was laughter and some levity now as the pack of reporters picked up on this latest news.
    “Cory Brand’s coaching kids’ baseball?” the blonde asked.
    Nobody seemed to be buying it.
    “That’s one lucky team,” the older reporter said.
    “Do the parents know their kids are getting Cory Brand as