Previously...

Cora turned back to Bette and Tina. Correctly fearing the worst, she weakly dropped the pepper-spray to the floor. Richard slowly walked up behind her, still keeping himself between Cora and the door. "Honey", Tina said, stepping nervously toward her. "I’m so sorry to have to tell you this. Your mom...she died."

Cora stood in a stupor. Her ears filled with an annoying hum while the lights faded from the room. Before it went completely dark she saw Bette lunging for her with an outstretched arm. And she heard Bette call, "Richard!"

Chapter 35.

Standing at home plate, bat in hand, eleven year old Cora nervously awaited the next pitch. A little league softball game with everything riding on what happened next. The score was fourteen to thirteen (little league scores had a way of getting atrocious fast) with a runner on third base. This was the typical "bottom of the ninth" situation, except in little league they only played seven innings. The roar of the parents in the bleachers was deafening. And above all else, Cora could hear her mother. "Come on Cora!! You can do it!! Eye on the ball!!"

She did as her mother said and kept her eye on the ball. She watched as it left the pitchers hand and soared two feet above her head, as many little league pitches tend to do. She did not swing. "Ball two!", cried the umpire.

The stands roared with applause. Cora stepped out of the batter’s box while the pitcher received a visit from her coach. She looked into the stands and smiled at her mother. These games were the only times they were able to pretend they were "normal". Her father, thankfully, was at work. He never made it to the games, thus never inflicted his anger and disappointment at her if she struck out. Faye and Cora had an agreement that if he asked about her games, which he rarely did, they would regale him of her on-field heroics, real or imagined. He’d be none the wiser. After all, the Wall Street Journal did not report little league box scores. Cora sunned her face and continued to smile into the stands. Her mother smiled back and stood, clapping. The action slowed to half speed as Cora dreamily looked around. Every movement hampered by the unseen force of nostalgia. The action slowed by half again. The coach walked away from the pitcher’s mound at a snails pace amid the muffled, blankety sound of the crowd. Cora looked to her mother again. Ever smiling, Faye slowly brought her hands together...