true. They don’t care about major league baseball. But they care intensely about baseball, I promise.”
He frowned. “Really?”
“You are in the home territory of the Calcasset Claws,” she said. He looked at her, puzzled, and she held up her fingers in a sideways V. He just stared. “You didn’t see ‘Go Claws’? Esther’s has one in the window, I think.”
“Oh,” he said. “Right, that’s what that was. Hey, you want a water?”
She nodded, and he tossed her a small plastic water bottle. “We had an Atlanta Braves farm team back in the ’80s, and then we lost it, and a few years later we got the Claws, who play in the same park. They’re part of the Northern Atlantic League. Unaffiliated minors.”
He hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter. “Is this okay?” he asked, gesturing generally to his perch. She waved dismissively. “So,” he said, “Claws are big.”
“They’re huge. Couple summers ago, there was a scandal, though.” She raised then lowered her eyebrows.
“You don’t say.”
“Intrigue at the cereal-box races.” She swiveled in the chair so she was sitting in it sideways with her legs slung over one of its wide, soft arms. “At every home game, between the third and fourth innings, three kids from town get into these foam cereal-box costumes. There’s a Cheerios box, a Wheaties box, and a Chex box. And they run around the bases, and whoever comes in first gets an autographed ball and a gift certificate to the DQ.”
“Wow, the DQ!” he said. “Giving away the good stuff.”
“Exactly. As you can imagine, it’s very serious. And everybody in the stands jumps up and knocks over their beers, you know, ‘CHEEEERIOOOOS!’ or ‘WHEEEEEEATIEEEES!’ So. Anyway. There’s this kid Mike Parco, who at the time is eight years old and is a serious, total asshole. I know you’re not supposed to say that about children, but I swear, it takes most men at least two divorces to be as mean as this twerp. His mom, Talley, ran the lobster-roll stand at the ballpark, and everybody knew that, at the time, she was sleeping with Doug Lexington, who was in charge of fan relations, like, ha ha.”
Dean grinned at her. “Oh, Talley.”
“So, probably because of favoritism, Mike got to race in the Cheerios costume for about ten games in a row. But, because fan relations can get you into the outfit but not around the bases, he never won. And Talley started to complain that it was the costume. She believed that the cereal-box races were rigged. So she writes a letter to the Calcasset Neighbor, and she’s demanding that somebody do something about this injustice and restore public confidence.”
“Boy, that’s a lady going a long way for a free Dilly Bar.”
Evvie laughed. “Right? So she raises this huge stink, and finally, the word goes out—Mike Parco is going to wear the Wheaties box at the game against Concord. By the time the night arrives, this story has everything—sex, sports, official corruption—so everybody is there. Everybody. You could have walked into any house in the entire town and cleaned it out. Taken absolutely everything they owned. And they’re not there for the game; they’re there for the cereal-box race. Not for love of the community, not for the spirit of the town—they’re there because they care who wins the cereal-box race. It is the least uplifting thing that has ever brought a town together. It is the opposite of the end of a Hallmark Channel movie.”
He nodded. “I’m not going to lie; this would not happen in New York.”
“Yes. Here’s to MidCoast Maine, home of a surprising number of people whose Fridays are available.” She smiled, raising her water bottle. “So Mike’s in the Wheaties. Dutch Halloran’s kid—we call him Double Dutch because his real name is Addison and it does not fit him—is wearing the Chex. And in the supposedly cursed Cheerios box is Bree Blythe Netherington, who is the shortest girl in the third grade. In fact, Bree is so short that we’re all pretty sure she can’t see out of the eyeholes.”
Dean smacked his hand to his forehead. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. So they’re all standing there, and finally Denny Paraday—who plays shortstop and is emceeing the thing—says, ‘GO!’ and they go. And they’re sort of run-waddling toward first, and Bree is so short that the costume comes down to her ankles, but for reasons that defy the laws of physics, she’s motoring. And she’s the first one to get to first