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The baseball bat stood propped in a
corner, next to her front door; its silent cursive
signature, running lengthwise, had rarely interested anyone until
now.
For Maggie, the heat of summer suggested dehydration, difficult heavy
breathing, and muscular intentions; as she stood next to her sister and her
sister’s car in the graveled driveway, Maggie did not try too hard to
think about the next time she would see her again – the summer nights they
had spent together in the wood with their magnifying glasses, inspecting
lichen and bugs, and the many nights they had made it back to camp well
after dark.
Next to Roxy’s car, Maggie’s brother-in-law did not to survey their
awkwardness too closely. He had found Maggie’s baseball bat and used it
to send small rocks into the long grass before her garden or
somewhere. It had never been used or intended for hitting small stones, and
she found it uplifting to watch him hit rocks with it.
“I’ve never used that bat,” she said, “I mean this is the first time
the bat has ever been used.” Maggie took a sidelong glance at her new
brother and watched him
hit another rock, somewhere into the distance.
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