Chapter Twenty-One
She knew she shouldn’t turn on the radio, but Maisy couldn’t help herself. Sam was gone, and she was impatiently waiting for Zoom to call her back. Hopefully he would reach her before Sam returned. Or the game started.
“Today’s game is huge. I know you don’t want to give him credit right now, but Hunter did bring the team out of a rough patch. They went from last place in the Central Division to the top. With only a few more games left in season play, the Turbos need just a handful of wins to clinch the pennant.”
“Luther, you’re full of it. It’s Fuzzy who brought us out of the dregs of the division. He’s got the experience and the steady hand that the Turbos needed.”
While Luther McLean and the 97.1 DJ went at each other over the radio waves, Maisy stared at her phone, willing it to ring. She was torn between frustration and giddiness today.
Since last night, her heart had lost all gravity. It floated on the power of three little words.
Talk radio was still rattling on. Another soundbite played from an interview with Zoom. “Sam made the worst deal of his life when he took Maisy out of the game at this point in the season. The Turbos need their lucky girl back.”
The discussion on talk radio had shifted to her. Instead of feeling the familiar twist in her gut, Maisy felt nothing but impatience. Come on, Zoom. Call.
Sam and Maisy had woken up late this morning. They’d eaten breakfast in bed and later cuddled on the couch to read the paper. Maisy had made a big show of grabbing the sports section and tossing it in the trash. Sam didn’t seem to mind. But she’d noticed how he kept an eye on the trash can.
When the rain stopped, Sam had announced he was going to go for a run. She’d encouraged him to take his time. Now she sat with the sports section she had fished out of the trash in her lap and her ear to the radio.
Luther was defending Sam. “I’ve got a lot of respect for the man. Before getting sidelined, Sam was driven. His energy and ambition outweighed his youthfulness. I worry that if we go back to the rank and file, we’ll lose the edge he brought to the team.”
“Yes,” Maisy said out loud. Luther McLean was a jerk, but he was a smart one.
Her phone went off. Before she could say anything, Zoom said, “I need you at that game today, Maisy.”
She couldn’t help a little sarcasm. “Why? Did someone throw away my lucky dress?”
“The fans want you there. Forget what Hunter said about the budget. If we win the pennant, my World Series donut will sell like crazy. I’ll build that playground and a whole new school if that’s what it takes to get you there.”
“There’s only one way to get me back to the ballpark, Zoom.”
“Name it and we’ve got a deal.”
After she spoke to Zoom, she hastily penned a note telling Sam she was going to spend the afternoon with Heather’s mother and she would be back by dinner. Technically she hadn’t lied. Heather’s mother was at the game. Somewhere out in the lower box seats.
She made it to the owner’s suite without being recognized. Zoom met her at the door. His hair was a mess. His tie was tackier than normal. For all his cockiness, the man was nervous.
“Glad to see you know a good offer when you hear it.”
“I was going to say the same to you,” she said.
“I didn’t even know you and Sam were friends or…” He jerked his head up as if it had just occurred to him that there was something more to Maisy’s request. “Wait a minute. Is it true? You and Kevin can’t get back together if you’re with Sam.”
Maisy rolled her eyes and entered the suite. Tristan was sitting by himself at a high-top table, scrolling through his phone. When he looked up, he broke into a huge smile.
He jumped up and hugged her. “Maisy!” Then, embarrassed, he stepped back. “I really am so sorry. It’s all my fault that your things ended up in the Turbos clubhouse.”
She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m okay. But my friend Heather is going to be upset if the dress is all stretched out.”
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t let them try it on. It would have ripped for sure. Although it looked great on me.” He grinned.
“We’ll have to get a vote and see who wore it best.” She squeezed his arm.
Zoom was already in place at the front row of the outside seats. He waved frantically. “Come on out, Maisy.”
Taking a deep breath, Maisy made her way to the balcony seats. The Chicago White Sox and the Turbos lined the field, hats on their chests. The first strains of the national anthem played.
The building excitement and jittery nerves were as familiar to her as the first day of school. The earthy tang of roasted peanuts combined with the pungent aroma of hot dogs and mustard. The old-fashioned organ music pumped through the stadium, bringing a sense of living history to the game, while the newer jumbotron and the pop songs in between made everyone happy. The hair stood up on the back of her neck at the beauty of it all.
The game was so complicated and so simple at the same time. Different player positions on the field. So many skills and rules that guided them. Yet one simple goal.
Hit the ball.
She’d forgotten how wonderful the game really was.
Complicated and simple. The thought kept going through her mind. Wasn’t that why she had such a love-hate relationship with it all? You could play nine innings and do everything right. But you could blow it all in the very last play of the game with a single, heartbreaking hit.
It was a wonder anyone returned to the field the next day. Or the day after that.
It took Maisy a moment to realize that her train of thought wasn’t really about baseball. It was about life. And love. And the fact that here she was again. Ready to take a chance. No one was using her. She was no one’s lucky charm. The power was all hers.
The last strains of the anthem were drowned out as the crowd went wild. Maisy opened her eyes to see herself on the jumbotron. She raised her hand and waved to the crowd. And then she went into her routine.
Maisy spun around in a circle, popped a wad of Dubble Bubble gum in her mouth, and saluted the mound.
Everything was right with the world.
Maisy Gray was back at the ballpark.
***
Sam sat on a barstool nursing a diet soda.
The lanky young bartender hadn’t stopped sneaking glances at him since he entered Plato’s. Now, he brought the channel changer over to him. He pointed to the screen where the postgame press conference was taking place. “I figure you’ve earned the right to turn it if you want.”
Sam nodded his thanks. But he didn’t change the channel. It was still his team. His girl.
Earlier, after he’d returned from his run and read Maisy’s note, he’d paced his apartment trying not to second-guess her. Then, Charlie Zumaeta had left a message informing Sam that he could report back to his job tomorrow. Sam was puzzled by Zoom’s sudden change of heart, until he turned on his television and saw Maisy sitting next to Zoom in the stadium.
At first, he was mad. He didn’t need Maisy running around trying to fix his problems. It made him furious to think of her giving in to Zoom like an innocent pawn in a high-stakes game.
When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he’d shut off his television and gone for a walk. He’d passed Plato’s and seen the screens glowing inside the bar and had known he had to watch. It was baseball, for God’s sake. And Maisy.
“I remember you,” the bartender said. “You two were here earlier in the summer? Right?”
“Maybe.” Sam nodded again.
The bartender shook his head and leaned against the back counter. “Damn. I’d have comped her if I’d known she was the lucky girl.”
“She would have been happy if you’d just poured the tequila like she asked.”
The bartender ignored Sam’s comment and raised his thumb toward the screen. “So, what the hell happened today?”
Good question.
The Turbos had lost, twelve to zero.
It was the ugliest game Sam had ever seen.
Chicago’s slumping lead-off hitter had smacked the first ball Halderman pitched over the center-field fence. The next three hitters had made the bases. And the fifth man at bat, a rookie, had hit a grand slam homer. The inning had lasted a lifetime.
Sam couldn’t fathom why Fuzzy hadn’t yanked Halderman by the third inning. His lack of action had to be the result of the man in the owner’s suite. Was Zoom so confident in the outcome that he thought Halderman would be able to pull himself back from the hole he was scratching out?
Through it all, the camera cut back and forth to Maisy, cheering, smiling, acting. She sat at the edge of her seat. She looked genuinely worried about the fate of the Turbos. She was spectacular. He wasn’t surprised in the least.
By the fourth inning, Halderman had settled down enough that it seemed like he was going to get out of the inning with only one extra run on the board. The score was eight to nothing. The fans were booing. The bench looked stunned, like they had shown up for the wrong game.
And then it happened.
The last batter hit a low shot right at the pitcher’s mound. Kevin reached for it with his bare hand. The ball hit the back of his wrist and he dropped to the ground, writhing in pain.
The bartender was growing tired of the postgame show. He picked up the channel changer and switched to Wheel of Fortune. Wiping the counter down, he said, “It turns out she wasn’t that lucky after all, was she?”
“Maybe it depends on who you ask. And can you change it back?”
The doctors were still examining Halderman. It was too early to know what kind of injury he had. Sam had a pretty strong sense that Halderman was out for the rest of the season. The season that was looking shorter and shorter, now that the team had lost. Sam took no pleasure in that. The Turbos were still his team. Halderman was his star pitcher. He cared. But they weren’t all that mattered.
There was so much more in his life. Color. Laughter. Driving along a country road on a sunny day.
Sam chuckled into his soda. God, he was turning into a flipping poet.
An unexpected phone call earlier had him thinking about a lot of things. Not the call from Zoom. The one from the owner of Whammo. He suddenly had options. And priorities.
“Here you are,” a familiar voice said behind him. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
He swiveled around, letting his face go hard. He had a speech all planned.
Maisy held up her hand and slunk into the seat next to him.
“Tequila?” the bartender asked sarcastically. The postgame show was back on. “Remote control?”
“No, thanks. I’m good,” she said, stealing Sam’s soda and taking a long sip. She waited until the bartender was gone and said in a weak voice, “Before you say anything, let me talk.”
Sam kept his eyes on the television screen. Fuzzy was talking. His eyes were bloodshot, and his mouth was grim.
“You must be running out of Dubble Bubble by now.”
When he’d seen her waving to the crowd and going into her silly routine, an emotion other than anger had grown inside of him. Gratitude. He wasn’t going to let her know how he felt quite yet.
Maisy slid the empty glass back to Sam. “So, I knew you would be mad, but it was my decision to go to the game. No one pressured me or blackmailed me or anything.”
“Why did you do it then? You missed the hot dogs?”
She pressed her lips together, unimpressed by his humor. Good. He loved her like hell, but he didn’t like her decision. Sam wasn’t stupid. He knew why she’d gone.
“Maisy, I didn’t want your help. I didn’t need you to make a spectacle of yourself for me and especially not for my job.”
Her lip curled into a saucy smile. “Are you kidding, Sam? I make a spectacle of myself all the time. That’s what I do for the people I love.”
“Not for me. I won’t have it.”
“Why, because you’re a big, strong man?” She tapped him in the chest with the back of her hand. “Geez, Sam. Why do men get all the glory? Sometimes a girl wants to come in and save the guy, too.”
“That’s not the point. You made a deal with the devil.”
“Don’t overreact. Zoom isn’t the devil. He’s a buffoon. A rich one.”
“He doesn’t have a clue about baseball.”
“No argument here.”
“You fed right into his plan.”
She sat up ramrod straight. “No. I didn’t at all. I still love baseball. And I love you. Can’t I have both?”
He put his hands on either side of her face and brought her close. She looked as beautiful as she had this morning. Not like a woman who had just stood in front a crowd of sixty thousand unhappy fans. “Would you still love me if I were baking donuts instead of managing a baseball team?”
Her lips were barely touching his. “Well, I like bagels better.”
He kissed her. “Shall we walk back to my place or find a deli?”
Her eyes flashed, and she backed away. “So you aren’t mad at me anymore?”
After reaching for his wallet, he fished out a ten-dollar bill and placed it on the counter. The guy didn’t deserve a tip, but he was feeling generous. “Not really. But you might be mad at me when you realize you went to the game for nothing.”
“What?”
He squinted at her. “Is that mustard in your hair?”
She ran her hand over her head. “Don’t change the subject.”
He did anyway. “That was one of the ugliest games I’ve ever seen.”
“Can you believe it? Poor Kevin. I hope he’s not hurt too badly.” She shrugged. “I’m over being angry with him. And baseball, too. No matter how difficult it’s been, I still love the game. It’s like I reconnected with an old friend again today.”
“I’m glad you figured it out.” He’d known it the minute he saw her catching fouls balls on that old dusty field at her elementary school. Maybe even earlier, when she’d watched the game from Zoom’s suite.
He, on the other hand, had always loved baseball. Even today, thinking he no longer had a job.
“Zoom says he’ll call you again tomorrow,” she said hesitantly.
“Yeah?” He couldn’t care less. He rubbed a hand over his face, not wanting to smile at her act of bravery, but he gave up and let her see that he wasn’t mad after all. “You are way too selfless.”
“Says the man who lost his job because of me.”
He’d do it all over again, too. Maybe that was the point. Loving Maisy wasn’t about winning or losing. It was about the intense fulfillment that came from standing together…no matter what.
He couldn’t resist another kiss. They both forgot where they were until someone shoved a wet rag on the bar between them. The bartender was standing in front of them, one eyebrow raised. “What about Halderman? I see how this is. No wonder we lost.”
Sam pulled Maisy out the door. She skipped in front of him, her eyes bright and her hands waving all over the place. He loved to watch her move. She didn’t just talk with her mouth. She used her whole body to tell a story.
She loved that way, too.
Maisy talked about the game and the loss as they walked. “Our bats were completely silent. Their pitcher was throwing well, but we should have been able to get on base more.”
“That wasn’t the only problem. It’s the hole we dug in the first inning. Fuzzy should have yanked Kevin by the third.”
“You think Zoom had something to do with it?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Fuzzy had to be gnawing on his cap in frustration. Tristan is probably pulling stats on the rest of the season right now. Poor kid.”
“Well, you can get all this fixed when you go back to work, right? And even if you don’t, next year looks promising.”
Next year. Sam had a lot to think about when it came to next year. The other phone call.
Hand in hand, they passed the busy restaurant district and headed toward the Commodore. They argued over the finer points of baseball. When to call the squeeze play and when to walk a left-handed hitter. At the edge of the White River, they paused to watch a softball game.
The old city field was brown from overuse. More than a dozen people were scattered on the field. They wore cutoffs and tank tops. Their equipment had seen better days. They barely had enough players to cover the bases.
“Hey, you two want to play?” one man in a faded Detroit Tigers hat asked. The players enthusiastically waved them onto the field.
Sam and Maisy looked at each other, grinning.
“What do you think?” she asked.
Sam put his arm around her and called out, “Can she play catcher?”
Maisy gave him a monster hug and loud kiss on the cheek before running off to borrow a mitt.