Chapter Sixteen: Esme and Nick

Jun 12

“Does she have a lower speed? Please tell me she was kidding about the golf cart,” Nick said as Maddie hustled out of the Emporium.

“Oh, I wish,” Esme answered. “On both counts.”

Nick smiled wistfully. “My daughters used to do the exact same thing when they wanted to avoid the truth about something. Head straight for the door.”

“I don’t have kids of my own, but I often feel like Maddie’s my daughter. We have a similar drive and intensity. And you’re right. She won’t admit how bad things are for her in this job. She just plows through, night and day, trying to deliver the sun, the moon, and the stars.”

“Well, impossible goals are the most fun,” Nick told her.

Esme felt a little faint in the best possible way. “Oh my! An in-person Maddox Maxim! I may or may not have a Cubs T-shirt that says that.”

“If you do, I hope you bought it outside of Wrigley and a local vendor took home a little extra cash that night.”

Esme batted her eyelashes in a parody of flirtatiousness. “Why, Mr. Maddox. You get me. How did you know I always buy my peanuts and T-shirts out on Clark Street?”

“Mr. Maddox? That’s a little disappointing. I thought you were going to call me Nick.”

“I am. I will. But I find myself distracted by your charms. And surnames are sexy, don’t you think?”

Nick’s eyebrows raised and Esme covered her mouth. Impulse control, impulse control, she chanted to herself. “I’m sorry. My inner censor is pretty weak. I’m warning you right now, I can be impetuous.”

“Well, I can hardly wait to see where that leads, Ms. Fields.”

“Oh, you’re going to be fun! Come with me.” Esme led him to the back office. “Maddie said you want to know about the jewelry toss.”

Esme’s office was an expansive room with a former-wooden-door-turned-table tucked in one corner. The legs of the table were sawhorses painted cobalt blue, and a large plate of glass rested on top. A matching blue bookcase against the wall held dozens of wicker boxes marked bracelets, necklaces, and rings. A row of baskets on the floor were labeled gift boxes and bubble wrap.

“This is it!” Esme twirled in place. “Where it all happens!”

“This is a helluva lot of jewelry.”

“What did I tell you? I’m impetuous! For every game, we pick about forty pieces. We group several items in a gift box, add a note, and wrap the box. When we launch it into the crowd, I make sure there are no sharp corners. I don’t want anyone to lose an eye! You know about the Hot Dog Cannon that Maddie and Carlton made?”

“I’ve heard about it. But who’s Carlton?”

“Carlton Wilde. Host of the Manders Matter podcast. Maddie basically tricked him into helping her with events even though he despises Monty Ortzelbean. There’s a lot more to the story with him and Maddie, but that would take at least three bottles of wine.”

“I remember Wilde. Great pitcher. Good dude. Wish he could have stayed in the bigs longer. I’d like to hear the story. If you let me pick the wines.”

“That’s right! You’re a connoisseur, aren’t you?”

“I’m a wine lover. Yes.”

“I’ll bet you are. Now hush, you’re distracting me again! What was I saying?”

“Hot Dog Cannon.”

Esme shook her head. “Right. I don’t think Maddie and Carlton have the velocity and trajectory entirely figured out. So, I refuse to toss anything that hasn’t been bubble wrapped.”

Nick walked over to the table and studied the treasures that had been selected for the next launch. He put on a string of pearls and modeled them in a nearby mirror.

Esme smiled at his antics. He really was more attractive in person and just as fun and unorthodox as he seemed during his post-game press conferences.

“Can’t go wrong with a classic like pearls,” she said. “I’ve got some vintage Chanel scarves if you’re interested.”

“You know my motto, wear what thrills you. Create your own hotness.’”

“Not to get too fangirl on you, but that’s one of my all-time favorite Maddoxisms. I’d like to paint it on our dressing room walls. Would that be OK with you?”

Nick laughed. “Only if you’ll let me sign it.”

“Deal!” Esme stuck out her hand, and Nick held it a few seconds longer than necessary. She let go reluctantly.

“Was the jewelry toss your idea?” Nick asked.

“Maddie has no money for promotions, and she was looking for free giveaways. We came up with this scheme together. I cannot seem to pass up jewelry at estate sales and yard sales. I’m excessively sentimental.”

“Somerset Maughan said, ‘Excess on occasion is exhilarating. It prevents moderation from acquiring the deadening effect of a habit.’ I believe that. Don’t you put poems in the boxes, too?”

Esme untied and retied the purple scarf in her hair. She was sweating and she didn’t think it was due to the humidity. “I’ve never heard that quote before, but I love it. Yes, Ed Remington manages the Emporium and he’s our local poet. He adds the poems. You should meet him.” She stepped to the door and called out, “Ed, can you come here for a second?”

Ed shuffled into the office, took off his cowboy hat, and bowed slightly. “Mr. Maddox, I admire your work for the Cubs even though I’m a Gray Sox man. Your managing style is pure grit and poetry.”

“I appreciate that. Sounds like poetry is something you know about. Care to tell me about your jewelry poems?”

Ed glanced down and fiddled with his hat. “I write a poem for every box. Just what I sense when I look at the pieces inside. Each one has a line drawing, too. A squiggle or two. Nothing to it.”

“I disagree! Did you know there’s an eBay site selling your work?” Nick asked. “People have already started collecting your squiggles. The words and the art. I like your style, Ed. You’re a true original.”

Ed rubbed his jaw and put his hat back on. “I’m mighty glad to hear that. I think art’s essential to life. Like a big river. Doesn’t matter if you’re adding a few drops of water like me or you’re a major tributary. It’s all worthwhile, and people need it to survive.”

The bells at the door chimed, signaling customers coming in.

“By your leave, sir.” Ed tipped his hat and exited.

Nick tipped his hat in return. “Well, there’s a character!”

“Did you expect anything less at the Not-So-Grand Emporium?” Esme asked.

Nick’s amused expression turned more serious. “Listen, I could use your help. That’s the real reason I came here today.”

“My help? What can I do?”

“If you’re a super fan, you know I was married and had two daughters when I was in my early twenties. The marriage didn’t last. I thought I’d blown my chance at romance, but then I met Jean. We had a beautiful life together. When I lost her to cancer a few years ago, it nearly destroyed me.”

“Of course, I remember reading about you and Jean. It was clear how much you adored each other. Her death affected all of us fans, too. What can I say? That sucks and I’m sorry. I should have realized—here, let me get you a comfy chair. Would you like some tea or something stronger?” Esme pulled the two plum-colored armchairs in the room closer together and closed the door for privacy. She sat down and Nick sat beside her.

“Thanks. Maybe later on the tea. And definitely later on something stronger. It helps to talk about this. It’s strange, but I feel like I can. Even though I don’t know you very well. Yet.”

“Happens all the time. It’s the craziest thing! People stop me in line at the supermarket and blurt out their life stories. I guess I give off that kind of a vibe.”

Nick placed his hand lightly on hers. “You do. I can see that. Well, my story is that I tried to ignore the worst of the grief and pretend I was fine. That didn’t work out, and I realized that sometimes you have to run toward the fire. So I went to a therapist. Not just for a couple of weeks. I hate that in baseball. Guys will finally admit they need therapy, but they expect it to be a quick fix. Like healing a blister. Doesn't happen that way. It’s taken me a couple of years, but I’m ready to move on. I still miss my Jean, but I’ve started dating again.”

Emse offered a sympathetic grimace. “And how’s that going?”

“About as well as you’d expect. I’m allegedly a celebrity, and that generates a lot of bull shit. Dating’s hard enough as it is. Anyway, I’m a big believer in rituals and symbols. I want to pass our wedding rings on to someone else. Your jewelry toss might be the way to do it. What do you think?”

Esme squeezed his hand. “That’s a lovely idea. I’d love to help! In fact, we might tweak this plan just a bit.”

“How?”

Esme fished her phone out of her pants pocket and scrolled through some photos. She found the one she was looking for and showed it to Nick. “I know this young couple. Marek and Petra. They’re both artists. Filmmakers. Struggling, of course. Working multiple jobs. They’re engaged, but they’ve been putting off the wedding for financial reasons. What if I asked Maddie to comp them into the game for tomorrow’s jewelry toss? We’ll make sure that the right gift box gets tossed to the right person. You don’t want your rings going to just anyone now, do you?”

“I love that idea. But I don’t want them to know it’s from me.”

“Certainly not! We should go to the game, though. Wouldn’t you like to be there?

“I would. Yeah. I think Jean would really dig this!”

Esme clapped. “All right then! It’s a plan. Who knew that Jewelry Toss Tuesdays would turn into a life-changing enterprise?”

Nick opened his satchel and pulled out a small velvet pouch. He took a slow breath, handed the pouch to Esme, and then exhaled.

“The rings?” She opened the pouch. The rings had a vintage elegance. The woman’s band was made of platinum and had delicate rose-gold petals with tiny diamonds in the center. The man’s was platinum with a stripe of rose-gold in the center.

“They’re Krikawa designs aren’t they? I can see the mokume-gane technique here. The metal almost looks like wood grain. Gorgeous!”

“You have a good eye.” Nick smiled and Esme thought he looked even more handsome—and a little lighter—than when she first met him.

“I’m starting to form an attachment to this place,” Nick said. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually looking forward to riding in that golf cart!”

***

“Ready? This is it!” Esme leaned in close to Nick. She could see the tension in his shoulders and massaged his neck. “There they are.” She pointed to Marek and Petra, seated a few rows closer to the field, both wearing Manders jerseys and hats courtesy of Maddie.

Nick nodded and gripped Esme’s hand.

“Manders fans, get ready for some flash!” Russell Wilde’s sonorous voice announced. “Sponsored by Esme’s Not-So-Grand Emporium. It’s time for the Tuesday Night Jewelry Toss!”

A cheer went up and most of the crowd—substantial for the Manders on a weeknight—stood and shouted for jewelry to be thrown their way.

Maddie and Tillie ran out on the field with the Hot Dog Cannon and a bag full of boxes encased in bubble wrap. Esme caught Maddie’s eye, and Maddie gave a thumbs-up sign. Esme held her breath.

The first box sailed into the air, high but not far. The trajectory looked on target.

Petra caught the gift box. Esme cheered. “She’s got it! Look!”

The Jumbotron showed Petra’s expression of shock and euphoria when she opened the box and found the wedding bands. She threw her arms around Marek. They swayed and hugged and kissed to the endless delight of the crowd.

Nick released Esme’s hand and pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket. Esme almost swooned. She’d always felt that men’s handkerchiefs were so mature and sexy. “Best jewelry toss ever!” she said.

“I won’t forget it.” Nick wiped his eyes. He didn’t seem to mind showing emotion. “And our farm team, the Iowa Cubs, are playing tonight. This is a chance for me to do some scouting, too. I should come to a couple more games while I’m here. If I can keep these seats. I like the view.” He brushed a stray piece of hair off of Esme’s forehead.

She looked up at him, not out at the field. “The view is awfully nice.”

“You asked Maddie to come over when she has a chance?”

“Sure did. She’ll be here soon.”

The sixth inning started and Esme drifted into her own thoughts. She didn’t realize that she had taken a Kleenex out of her purse and was shredding it like a miniature snowstorm around her feet.

“Something wrong, Esme?”

“Huh? Oh, no.”

“I think there is. What? You did me a big favor tonight. Anything I can do?”

They settled back in their seats, and Nick put his arm around Esme. She liked it and moved a little closer to him. Maybe she could share a few private thoughts. She trusted him, and he might be able to help.

“I’m worried about Maddie. She’s having a rough time. Some pretty dramatic disasters lately, and she takes them so hard, you know? She feels responsible for everything in the universe. She tries to hide it, but I know she’s feeling down. Sorry. Forget I said anything. Especially now. Here she comes.”

Esme waved and Maddie ran down the stadium’s wide, concrete steps to her aunt’s row.

“Hey, Esme! Nick! Wasn’t that awesome with Petra? Even Tillie was crying. She said it was hayfever. Ha!”

Nick stood up and made a space for Maddie to come sit between him and Esme. “Thanks for dropping by. I know you’re busy. This won’t take long. I have a confession to make.”

Maddie glanced at her aunt, curious. “Really? That sounds ominous.”

“First, I wanted to tell you how impressed I am by all you’ve done around here.”

Maddie flushed and took the bandana out of her back pocket to wipe her brow. “Oh gosh, I haven’t done very much. Actually, I’ve had some promotions that were total disasters. But it’ll get better. I hope.”

“Honestly, Maddie, your events that didn’t work out are why I’m here. You’ve made some glorious mistakes. Epic! You’ve gone down in flames in ways I’ve never seen before.”

“I thought you came here on a whim.”

“Actually, I was following the Sliding Salamanders before I got to Sweetgum. Back in Chicago, Ellersby shared the videos of dogs running wild on the field. It was funny and heartfelt. I was hooked. As soon as I knew I was coming to this part of the country, I decided to meet you.”

“No! Dante Ellersby, your star shortstop? The guy with four Gold Gloves and two Silver Sluggers?”

“He’s a big fan of yours.”

Maddie’s whole face lit up. “No way! He’s the ultimate gamer. Come on, you’re not serious. He’s really a fan of Tillie, then. She’s the one who manages our social media. I’ll be sure to tell her.”

Nick raised a hand. “As God is my witness, I’m not kidding. Tillie does a bang-up job, but you’re the visionary. You swing for the fences. Anyone can hand out dollar hot dogs. But launching free dogs and jewelry and poetry from a cannon? Brilliant! And that giant candy cotton? It was wonderfully weird—and weirdly beautiful watching it dissolve in the sprinklers. You embrace promotions in a way I’ve never imagined. Keep that big swing, Maddie. It’ll serve you well. And don’t even get me started on the Cannoli Mobile!”

Maddie blanched and Esme stepped in. “Too soon, Nick. We don’t speak of the Cannoli Mobile.”

“Got it. Keep the Hot Dog Gun. Cut the Cannoli Mobile.”

Esme and even Maddie laughed at his riff on the famous line from The Godfather.

“The point is,” Nick continued. “Embrace your fuckups. They’re beautiful.”

“I’ve been trying” Maddie said with a deep sigh. “But I feel like I’m a disaster magnet. After that stupid rubber duck incident in Akron, I know my whole career could end in one afternoon. But I can’t stop seeing how things can be bigger and better. I love this game so much. It can generate so much joy! So, I just have to pull out all the stops. Do the most that I can. But lately, I’ve been worried and scared. I’m embarrassed saying that to someone like you. You’re never afraid. You take big risks all the time.”

Nick shifted in his seat and looked thoughtful. “It’s OK to be scared. But let the process be fearless. Sometimes you have to get uncomfortable to find success.”

My God, thought Esme. The man really does think in aphorisms. He’s a walking, talking, T-shirt-making machine. Embrace your fuckups! Let the process be fearless!”

“Did my aunt put you up to this?” Maddie asked.

“No! This is coming from me. I want you to know—I get what you’re doing. It’s great. Don’t give up, OK?”

Maddie sniffed and rubbed her nose. “Do you mind if I hug you?”

They hugged. Esme couldn’t stand it anymore and pulled another wad of Kleenex out of her purse.

Maddie turned to her aunt. “Are you crying?”

“You know I can’t watch an ASPCA commercial without crying.” Esme blew her nose. “Why wouldn’t I cry when the kindest man I’ve ever met gives my dear niece such excellent advice? No one has ever accused me of being made of stone.”

“No. You’re completely made of mush.” Maddie laughed. “I’d stay and we could all sing Kumbaya together, but I have to go back to work.”

Maddie left and Esme gave Nick a quick kiss on his cheek “Thank you.”

“It was self-serving. We’ve got to keep people like Maddie in the game. I mean that.”

“I know you do. That’s what made it so effective.” Esme decided she might take a risk of her own. She wanted to see more of Nick. A lot more, if she was being honest. “Want to stop by my house tomorrow morning? I’d love to show you around town before tomorrow night’s game.”

“I was hoping you’d ask. I’m staying in the area through Saturday night. I’d like to see a few more games. I’m learning a lot about the Iowa Cubs this trip.”

“Well, I’m delighted to tell you that you’ll get to experience Flying Dog Friday for yourself. And Saturday is ‘Mind Your Melon Night’. Safety tips to avoid head injuries, the local farmers’ market … and something with cantaloupes. I’m not sure what.”
“Sounds wonderful.” They scooted next to each other, and Nick put his arm around the back of Esme’s seat. She rested her head on his shoulder. She thought about all the magical games at Wrigley Field she had attended over the years, but she had a feeling tonight was her favorite night ever at a ballpark.

***

Esme climbed up the short stepladder she kept in her kitchen and pulled down a harvest gold crock pot. “Straight from the ‘70s. And it still works.”

Nick held her waist gently as she stepped down and backward. “Careful. You don’t want to fall.”

“Oh, I’m fine!” Esme enjoyed his touch and stalled slightly before she went to her linen drawer and pulled out two aprons. “If we let this pot roast cook all day, we can do whatever we want today and still have dinner before the game.”

Nick reached for the wooden cutting board, which was shaped like a beagle, and laid it on the counter. “I love to putter in the kitchen, but what about having ballpark food?”

“Call me elitist if you want, but I refuse to eat processed meats shot to me out of a cannon.”

“Flying Dog Friday was last night. I’ve never seen a crowd so excited about hot dogs before. This has been quite a week. Can’t wait for ‘Mind Your Melon Night’ later!”

“I think it’s the free hot dog aspect that appeals to people,” Esme answered dryly.

“No, it’s the absurdity,” Nick countered. “Never doubt humanity’s appetite for the weird. I’m glad we’re making dinner together. This is my last night in Sweetgum. Man, the time has flown by! Having a quiet dinner by ourselves sounds nice.”

Esme felt a wave of melancholy at Nick’s departure. In just a few days, she had come to feel like old friends with him, and she hated the thought of losing him in the morning. She covered her sadness with frivolity. “I agree. We can still get malt cups at the game if you need a ballpark food fix.”

“I love a good malt cup! It’s those little wooden spoons attached to the cup that really do it for me.”

Nick and Esme moved around the kitchen like they had been choreographed. As if they had already done this a hundred times before. Esme pulled vegetables out of the refrigerator and pantry, and Nick washed them and chopped them, then slid them into the slow cooker.

“Do you like cooking with other people?” Nick asked. “Jean and I cooked together all the time, and it’s one of the little things I loved about being married.”

“I don’t mind cooking by myself. I’ve been divorced so long, I barely remember what it’s like to have someone in the kitchen with me.”

Esme took an onion out of a hanging basket and handed it to Nick. He tilted his head to the side and looked at her. “Haven’t there been relationships since then?”

“I’m not sure I’d call them relationships. I have thoroughly enjoyed the company of men, but it’s always short term. A week or two with a tourist or maybe a brief encounter when I’m visiting LA or New York.”

“Really? You seem like a complex woman. A woman of substance. Is that enough for you?”

Esme was genuinely startled. She and Nick had spent quite a bit of time together lately, and they had certainly flirted. But she had not pushed for anything more just yet. He was on a bereavement leave after all. She knew he had been thinking about Jean, too. There was no need to rush. But this pointed question sounded like a move on his part. Or a judgement.

Nick continued to quarter potatoes and put them in the crock pot.

“I’m perfectly happy with my life,” Esme said with a slight edge to her voice.

Nick looked up quickly and set the knife down. “I’m sorry. I hope that didn’t come across as a criticism. I was just asking. I know for me, I like being partners. Being part of a pack. I’m like a beagle in human form.” He reached down to scratch Sosa behind the ears.

Esme’s stomach fluttered. This conversation felt like an opening gambit on a chess board, and now it was her move. She wasn't usually flustered by this kind of situation. But now she felt jittery and uncertain. She pulled the roast out of the refrigerator and unwrapped it. “We need to brown the meat before we put it in.”

“Let me take care of it.” Nick took the roast. He diced some garlic, melted butter in a pan, and put the roast in it.

“Nice touch. That’ll make it more flavorful.” Esme tapped her fingers on the counter and turned to face Nick. “I love my life. I do get lonely sometimes but that’s just part of being alive, and it doesn’t happen very often. I know plenty of married people who are much lonelier than I am. Plus, I’m the woman you have a fun affair with, not the woman you marry. “

Nick flinched. “Whoa! Where did you get that idea?”

“From every man I’ve been involved with since Craig. My ex-husband.”

“Why do you let them decide? Why don’t you decide if they’re worthy of you?”

Esme let her defenses down a little. “Oh, don’t misunderstand me. I’m the one in charge. It’s not like I have low self-esteem. I’m a strong woman with a strong personality. But there are certain patterns that become apparent.”

She pulled out a chair from the 1950s chrome and Formica dinette set in the center of the room and offered it to Nick.

“Patterns, Esme? I’m not sure what you mean.”

Esme took two ruby glass drinking glasses from a kitchen cabinet and filled them with ice and sweet tea. Sosa settled on Nick’s feet and began to snore softly. Sandberg jumped in his lap, and Nick stroked his back. Esme couldn’t help but smile. Her dogs had no qualms about making the right moves in their relationships. They knew that Nick was a good person, and they took action to get their needs met.

“I mean, I have no trouble getting attention.” Esme sat down and handed Nick a drink. “I’m outgoing, friendly, different enough to be intriguing. And I most definitely do not wait around for a man to complete me.”

Nick clinked glasses and offered a toast. “I’ve noticed all that.”

“Thank you,” Esme said demurely and took a sip of her drink. “But after a while, men tend to fall into one of two categories. On one side are the ones who are charmed by my unique outfits, outrageous ideas, and outspoken personality. At first. Then they want to tone me down. Tame me. They want to make me smaller, and I have no interest in that. The other camp goes in the opposite direction. They love my energy because they don’t have much of their own. They want me to add color to their world. Every damned day. It’s exhausting. Those men are draining and don’t offer much.”

“There might be other categories.” Nick leaned forward on his elbows and tried to meet Esme’s gaze, but she glanced away. Talking about these things was surprisingly affecting. She wondered if she had created limited categories to protect herself. From what? And what might happen with Nick in the future? What might happen right now? Her heart was racing, erratic, out of control for once, and she wanted to get back to normal.

“So, there you have it.” Esme drained her tea. “Hot sex, fun dates, a good time, and I’m out of there. I don’t need the hassle. I have too many great things going on in my life.”

Nick pushed his tea aside. Then he held out his hand. “Let’s dance.”

Whatever response Esme had expected, it wasn’t that.

Sandberg jumped down as Nick stood up, brushing off his pants. Sosa objected to the loss of Nick’s feet as his bed, but he moved aside and plopped back down on the floor with a huff.

Esme let out a slow breath, stood and accepted the dance invitation.

Nick played Frank Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon” from his phone. He and Esme slow-danced a box step in the small kitchen. Esme let herself relax. Nick was a good dancer. His moves were slow and sensual. This felt good. And scary. But so good.

As the song ended, Nick took Esme’s face in his hands and gave her a kiss so deep and sincere, her knees literally buckled for a moment.

Nick steadied her, looked her in the eyes, and said, “Ms. Fields. I don’t believe you’ve ever met your match before.”

RELATED ART (& FOOD)

Esme’s crock pot is a classic. And here’s her roast beef recipe, based on Darlene Younkin’s recipe. Darlene is in her 90s and is a Master of the Crock Pot. She’s also the mother of Wilde Pitch author Laura Younkin.

CROCKPOT ROAST

This works for a pork tenderloin or a chuck roast if you prefer beef.

The roast should fit in the pot. Mom doesn’t know specific weights.

Brown the roast in a skillet. Garlic and butter add flavor, but are optional.

Dice potatoes, onions and carrots. Again, amounts depend on what will fit in the pot.

Put vegetables in the pot, add 1/2 cup of water.

Cooking times are estimated, but approximately 4 hours on high and 8 hours on low.

SWEET TEA

A quick note about sweet tea, if you’re not familiar with this Southern beverage. It is not merely iced tea with sugar in it.

It’s iced tea made originally from boiling water. The sugar dissolves better in hot water, so it’s well-blended and not gritty. And Southerners are not afraid to put a lot of sugar in their sweet tea. A LOT OF SUGAR.

BASEBALL INSPIRATION

“Dante Ellersby” was inspired by Dansby Swanson, the current shortstop for the Chicago Cubs. Dansby has two Gold Glove Awards to his credit and two All-Star game appearances. He set a franchise record with 26 RBIs over a 10-game span in June/July, 2026. He is definitely a gamer, and Mike Shildt, the San Diego Padres manager, credited him with winning last year’s Wild Card playoff series using his glove alone.

We realize there are many spectacular players on the other baseball teams that our readers support, but please indulge us in a minute of love for one of our favorites.

Video courtesy of ESPN Sports Highlights with a brilliant assist from Rob Mitchell.

Music by Carly Simon