Chase wrapped an arm around my shoulders and shoved a microphone in my face. I didn’t have much experience with press interviews. After the first three years in the minors, reporters realized you weren’t a new phenomenon anymore, and your chances of ever turning into a baseball legend grew slimmer by the month. Unless you did something unusual in a game like hitting grand slams or catching a ball in the outfield that no one else would catch, the media gravitated to the youngest guys.

Speaking live on the radio, Chase poked at my chest. “This man here is the latest rising Yellowjackets star. Trust me on that. Mark my words. Right field is a magical corner here, and Harley is the man for the job.”

When they shut down the microphone, and the tech guys moved on to return to the press box, I said, “Damn, Chase, why don’t you put a little pressure on me? Seriously, though, I do appreciate it. I hope I don’t let you or anyone else down.

“Hey Mickey, go out there and give it 110%. That’s all any of us can ask. Play your best-damned game every time you leave the dugout. You can do that for the Yellowjackets, can’t you?”

Chase’s white teeth shone in the dim light of the locker room. I laughed and said, “Sure, that’s what I do. I play hard. Everybody knows that.”

“By the way, how are things with my buddy Eric? He’s crucial for your defense game. You need to work together like a well-oiled machine.”

“I’m not worried about that at all. Eric picked me up late from the airport and graciously let me sleep on his couch last night because I screwed up and didn’t have the info. for my hotel room.”

Chase smiled. He said, “We’ll keep that little detail off the record, but wow, that’s Eric for you. He’ll give you the shirt off his back if you ask him for it.” Chase leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “And ask him for it sometime. He’s worth seeing without the shirt. I’m just sayin’.” Chase poked me in the chest again.

I laughed. “We hang out in a locker room. I’m sure that’s likely to happen. It’s not like I’ll be concentrating on that, though. It’s what Eric does in the uniform that counts.”

Chase shoved a hand against my shoulder. “I’m joking with you, Harley. You straight boys all need to lighten up. I need to get my ass back up to the press box and start the broadcast for this game tonight but welcome to Charlotte. We’re mighty glad to have you here! You’ll be part of the best outfield in the league.”

Chase started to turn on his heel but looked back over his shoulder before he left. “And if you see Eric. Well, I suppose, when you see Eric, tell him to give me a call. Aaron and I have a cookout coming up and want him to join us. Consider this an invitation for you, too. I’ll get the details out to both of you soon.”

As I watched Chase walk away, I was stunned by how relaxed he was. It was hard to believe. It was only a couple of months past the end of his playing career, one of the most promising in baseball, and he didn’t seem to care. In fact, he acted happier than I ever saw him in Chattanooga.

As I tossed the ball back and forth with Eric in the outfield, I kept my feet moving because I wasn’t sure that I could stop my knees from buckling if I tried to stand still. Eric called across the gap between us, “And you don’t want to miss the cookout. Aaron and Chase will have great food. It’s an outstanding chance to get to know some of the guys better. Javier should be there, and I hope Mo will be there with Jack. Angela, the grad student that works with Jack, might be there, too. Say, I’ll have to introduce you to her.”

Eric held onto the ball and jogged up to me. Still bouncing from one foot to the other like a prized prancing pony, I asked, “What’s up? Are we done tossing the ball already?”

“No, I was thinking about Angela, and then I thought about you. For some reason, she never warmed up to my charms, but maybe you can give it a shot. I know she’s crazy about baseball, and she’s working on Jack’s projects with him.” Eric pointed toward the stands. “She sits right up there. Mo bought her the season ticket next to Jack’s. If you want a woman who likes the game, keep her on your radar.”

I thought it was hard standing still in the outfield, but heading to home plate for my first time at bat was even tougher. They slotted me in batting sixth in the lineup. I didn’t come to the plate until the second inning. The guy before me lined a double into the gap between center and right field. I strolled into the batter’s box with one out and a runner in scoring position.

The catcher razzed me saying, “Don’t worry, buddy. It’s just your first time. They don’t expect much of you. They’ll let you strike out at least three times before they send you back to the junior league.”

I did my best to ignore him and dug my back foot into the batter’s box. Since high school, they told me I had an unusual batting stance. I leaned back hard on my back foot, and I liked to slowly circle the business end of the bat in the air as I waited for the pitch. I honestly don’t know when it started. It evolved as I found my groove. Once I was consistently successful, I didn’t want to change a thing.

While I waited for that first pitch, I felt like I was anything but in my groove. My knees knocked, and the sweat poured down from underneath my arms and beneath my brow. I was a nervous wreck, but somehow I managed to keep my eye on the ball.

I let the first pitch go by for a called strike. I was ready to murder the next one, but it was low and outside. The pitcher wanted me to go golfing for the ball, but I blinked the sweat from my eyes and held back to prevent an embarrassing swing.

For the third pitch, I willed my knees to stop their shaking. The end of the bat made three slow circuits before the pitcher released the ball. I threw my weight forward into the pitch and hit a screamer down the first base line.

It hit the ground fifty feet beyond the base and rolled into the outfield corner before the right fielder could do anything about it. There’s a certain poetic justice to making life difficult for the other team’s man playing my position. I imagined him cursing to himself when the ball caromed off the wall in an odd direction.

When the dust settled, I slid safely into third base with a triple in my first big league time up to bat. My teammates roared their approval from our dugout, and I saw Eric leaning against the rail with a raised hand and a clenched fist. I gave him a thumbs-up salute before I brushed the dirt from my brand new uniform pants.

I scored the run when the next batter lofted a long fly ball into deep center field. Eric was there to greet me first on the top step of the dugout. He hugged me tightly, and it felt damn good. I knew that I’d made at least one friend on the team.

By the time I navigated my way through the press maze flinging questions left and right at the new Yellowjackets right fielder, it was almost midnight. Eric hung around to make sure I had a room, and I said, “Yeah, I got it all sorted out with the front office. The hotel is only a few blocks from the stadium.”

He said, “Okay, but if you need anything, give me a call. I’ll do what I can.” Then he smirked when he added, “As long as your phone is charged.”

I laughed and shook my head. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

“Not until something new takes its place.”

I climbed into a cab for a very short ride, and the desk clerk already knew who I was when I walked through the front door. He said, “They brought your luggage over earlier in the day. We’ve got you in a suite on the tenth floor. If you need anything, let us know. We’re here to make sure your stay is a great one.”

As I collapsed on the bed in my room, my phone rang. I expected it to be Eric making sure that I was in my room, but instead it was my mom. She whispered into the phone when she spoke.

“Hun, we watched your game tonight. You were wonderful. The tears streamed down my face when you hit that triple. I wanted you to know I was thinking about my boy. I wish I could be there in person, but I’m there in spirit. I’m the proudest mom on the face of the earth tonight.”

I said, “Oh, that’s wonderful. I love you all. Mom, it’s late. You could have called tomorrow. Why are you even up?”

“I couldn’t sleep, hun.”

“Couldn’t sleep? You don’t usually have that problem.”

She started whispering again. “I don’t want to take anything away from your night, but things are a little bit unsettled here. It will blow over in time. I’m so proud of you, Harley.”

I held the phone tight to my ear. “Unsettled? What kind of word is that? Is somebody sick? How’s dad?”

“Everybody’s well, and don’t you worry. We’ll get it sorted out. You keep playing like tonight, and the next thing you know, you’ll be an all-star.”

I was happy to hear her praise my playing, but I was worried about what was up at home. I said, “Mom, tell me what’s going on. I know something’s up. You’re not your normal self.”

“No, no, I can’t talk now. We’ll talk again in a couple of days. I love you, Harley. You’ve made the entire state of Indiana proud. The paper’s putting out a whole special edition on you tomorrow. I’ll mail a copy. Love you so much.”

I said, “Love you, too, but wait, Mom, don’t go. Tell me…” and she was gone. I debated whether to call back, but I was too tired to follow up. I told myself it was something about the quarry or my brother or sister in school. There was never a dull moment in the Donaldson clan. Before I thought through anything else, I fell asleep lying flat on my back fully clothed.