While Cynthia might not have "come to terms" with her quickly acquired family, she was positively thrilled to announce the wedding to all who'd listen, skirting the impending birth like a ballet dancer, concentrating on lace and promises, even if the color was off-white. A party of Bird Song's male residents plus the Dawkins gals had gathered in the parlor. All were mellowing on two bottles of cognac Paul Dawkins provided, in smiling celebration of some event known only to him and Paulette. Joseph and Ginger sat, pretending everyone continued to love one another while no doubt plotting their own sneaky revenge. Dean and his wife joined the group, followed by Brandon Westlake, Pumpkin Green, and a newly arrived Midwesterner named Hank.
Cynthia finished her wedding pronouncement by tossing out a comment about her foolish son considering delaying the final year of his education to play professional baseball, a decision against which she and Rose Calvia planned to exert a full court press.
"Imagine, he's even considering playing this game, and in some foreign country!"
Unfortunately, Cynthia Dean had chosen the wrong audience. The statement was met with glazed eyes and yearning smiles.
The utter pinnacle of Paul Dawkins' lifetime achievement was three September games with the bigs-screw the oh-for-seven batting average and his two fielding errors. Never mind there were only three hundred die-hard fans with nothing else to do in attendance for the end of the year outing of a last place team. He had been there, damn it, and nobody could take that away! This he reported, his eyes glassy in rapt nostalgia, reliving every errant swing of his impotent bat. Hank from the Midwest even asked him for his autograph.
Big brother Joseph Dawkins, the smart one of the family, gritted his teeth and said nothing. Though whips and chains wouldn't have gotten him to admit it, he was so insanely jealous of his brother's moment of glory he would have sold his soul and auctioned wife Ginger to have done the same damn thing. As for Pumpkin Green-screw walking across the United States! If he could hit a little white ball, he'd be a legend in the 'hood! And Brandon Westlake? God love him-he had followed the Boston Red Sox for sixty years and couldn't even dream of ever being there himself. Even David Dean, although he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut in front of his wife, was forced to cross every finger of both hands. God, he would have given both arms, his manhood, and his Captain Midnight whistle for one day as a pro, regardless of the language of the cheering fans.