Extra Innings

Elena sat on her back porch, the transistor radio crackling with the seventh inning stretch. Her mother had loved baseball—those lazy Sunday afternoons at Fenway, the ghost of Babe Ruth's curse hanging over them like incense. Now the radio was all that remained of those rituals.

Her cat, Minerva, wound around her ankles, indifferent to the grief that had settled like dust in Elena's chest since the funeral. Three weeks, and she still couldn't decide whether to sell the house. Every room held archaeological evidence of a life: her mother's gardening shears by the back door, the baseball cap hung on the hook, the way afternoon light hit the kitchen table.

The radio announcer's voice rose—a home run. Somewhere in the city, strangers cheered together.

Then she heard it: barking from the neighbor's yard. Their golden retriever, Buster, had escaped again. Elena had rescued him twice before, but this time she stayed seated. Let him run. Maybe he'd find something better than the fence that confined him.

She remembered bringing her own dog home as a girl, the way her mother had knelt in the dirt to greet him, mud staining her jeans. "We're all just looking for someone to throw the ball back," she'd said. Elena had been twelve, too young to recognize the melancholy beneath the wisdom.

The cat jumped onto her lap, purring like a small engine. Outside, the barking faded as Buster's owners called him home. Elena reached for the bourbon she'd poured hours ago, still untouched on the railing.

The bottom of the seventh. Two outs. Full count.

She thought about her mother's collection of baseball cards, the way she'd saved them like scripture. How she'd taught Elena that life, like baseball, was mostly waiting—for the pitch, for the break, for something worth swinging at.

The pitcher wound up. Strike three. Game over.

Elena turned off the radio. In the sudden quiet, Minerva's purring swelled. Somewhere, a dog barked once, then fell silent. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purples and golds.

She took a sip of bourbon, finally tasting it. Tomorrow she'd call a realtor. Tomorrow she'd plant something in her mother's garden. Tomorrow she'd find a team to root for.

Tonight, she sat with the cat and waited for the stars to emerge, learning how to be alone without being lonely.