TWO
PASTOR JOB
In the next room, we found rows of aquariums and indoor “tide pools.” We
wandered around the exhibits, taking in starfish and mollusks and sea
anemones that looked like underwater blossoms. Cassie and Colton
oohed and aahed as they dipped their hands in man-made tide pools and
touched creatures that they had never seen.
Next, we stepped into a massive atrium, bursting with jungle leaves,
vines tumbling down, branches climbing toward the sky. I took in the palm
trees and exotic flowers that looked as if they’d come from one of Colton’s
storybooks. And all around us, clouds of butterflies flitted and swirled.
As the kids explored, I let my mind drift back to the summer before, when
Sonja and I played in a coed softball league, like we do every year. We
usually finished in the top five, even though we played on the “old folks”
team—translation: people in their thirties—battling teams made up of
college kids. Now it struck me as ironic that our family’s seven-month trial
began with an injury that occurred in the last game of our last tournament of
the 2002 season. I played center field, and Sonja played outfield rover. By
then, Sonja had earned her master’s degree in library science and to me
was even more beautiful than when she’d first caught my eye as a
freshman strolling across the quad at Bartlesville Wesleyan College.
Summer was winding down, but the dog days of the season were in full
force with a penetrating heat, thirsty for rain. We had traveled from Imperial
about twenty miles down the road to the village of Wauneta for a double-
elimination tournament. At nearly midnight, we were battling our way up
through the bracket, playing under the blue-white glow of the field lights.
I don’t remember what the score was, but I remember we were at the tail
end of the game and the lead was within reach. I had hit a double and was
perched on second base. Our next batter came up and knocked a pitch
that landed in the center-field grass. I saw my chance. As an outfielder ran
to scoop up the ball, I took off for third base.
I sensed the ball winging toward the infield.