The Ninth Inning

by A. J. Stewart

  Danielle took a long breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth. Then she let her hands fall to her sides and steadied her weight across both feet. And she shot me the half smile, the one that does all kinds of things to me.

  “Let’s get married,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The room felt small to begin with. I imagined at the busiest of times only a family or two would congregate in the chapel at any one moment. Perhaps to pray for a soon-to-depart loved one or someone they had just lost. It didn’t feel like the kind of chapel that saw the other side of the coin very often. A lot of places that held funerals were offset by good times—weddings and christenings and such. Both ends of the continuum of life. This small room felt like it got more than its share of one end and not enough of the other.

  As I looked around the tight space, I realized that the buzz of positive energy wasn’t emanating from the space itself but rather from the people inside it. The few makeshift pews had been filled by those patients capable of walking, or at least being wheeled in. There was a pew of nurses sitting together, still in their brightly colored scrubs, beaming from ear to ear. Patients well enough to move, some still on gurneys, filled any vacant space. The ballplayers filled the rear of the room. They were the tallest and the fittest, on both counts by a country mile. In the middle of the aisle between the pews, connected to the tripod, was my phone. It was looking directly at me where I stood, with the pulpit on one side and my best man, Jane, on my other. My phone was on, and the video app that Julio had me download was running. To the side of the pulpit, on the small table where the candles had sat, someone had rapidly set up a flat-screen television. The picture on the screen looked like the opening title sequence of The Brady Bunch, all divided into small squares. There was a face within each square. Jane and I were visible in the first square, top left. From there I could see the faces of all the people important to Danielle and me, at least those still among the living. I saw Ron and Cassandra in their living room in Palm Beach, and Mick and Muriel with a crowd gathering behind them in the courtyard at Longboard Kelly’s. I saw my old friend, Lucas, sitting on one of the boats that he tended at the South Beach Marina in Miami, and then the face of Sally Mondavi, watching me from his pawn shop in West Palm. There was one more face in a square that was unfamiliar to me. I glanced at Jane, and she smiled and nodded at the picture of her mother, beaming in from Ann Arbor, Michigan.

  Nurse Gabriela appeared from within the forest of tall ballplayers and asked me if we were good to go.

  “Ready and willing,” I said.

  She offered me her easy smile and then turned and dashed away. I took a deep breath, in through my nose and out through my mouth, the way I had before every single pitch I had thrown since high school. People always thought it calmed me. It wasn’t true. What it did was give me the outward appearance of being calm, the ability to hide the charging bison that were rampaging through my frayed nerve endings.

  I felt Jane bump me with her hip, and I glanced at her.

  “You’re an okay guy, Miami Jones.”

  We both looked back toward the door of the chapel as we heard it open, and ballplayers parted like the Red Sea.

  It was then I realized there was no music. As far as wedding planning went, it had been a fairly rushed, bare-bones affair. I had been focused on making sure everyone who we wanted to see could do so through the miracles of modern technology. I had forgotten a radio or a boombox, so I watched for the appearance of the bride in silence.

  Then the row of nurses in their scrubs started singing like a barbershop quartet. “Bridal Chorus” by Wagner, a piece of music so well known, so ubiquitous that three bars hummed by a row of smiling nurses turned into an entire room of people singing in unison by the time the bride appeared at the door.

  Danielle wasn’t in white. She was still in her sundress, the one that looked perfect for a picnic. It was the last time I would ever think that. From this moment on, it would be the perfect dress in which to be wed.

  Someone had rustled up a small bouquet of flowers, and she held them in one hand. Her other hand was placed on the hand of Dr. Ryan Castle. He was in a wheelchair being pushed along by Nurse Gabriela, who wore a smile so big an observer might have thought it was her own special day. In many ways it was.

  Ryan Castle sat crumpled and leaning in his wheelchair, his hand on the armrest and underneath that of his daughter. He only wore half a smile, because that was all he was capable of, but the half that was there was good for at least a couple of megawatts. His head didn’t move, but his eyes were bright as they darted around the room full of friends and caregivers and patients and family and baseball players.

  The impromptu choir kept humming until Gabriela had parked Ryan at the front and sat down next to him, and Danielle took her place by my side.

  As the room fell silent, Danielle held my hand and we turned our attention to the pulpit, along with everyone in the room and those looking through my phone via video feed.

  In addition to the music, it had been a somewhat overlooked component of my plan that we would require someone ordained or with the correct licensure to oversee and officiate the ceremony. As luck and good happenstance would have it, the third-base coach for the Oakland A’s, Joe Fuentes, was a pastor, and with a couple of clicks on the Internet, he was able to get a one-day license to operate in Arizona.

  He stood before us in his Oakland A’s uniform, sans the cap. He welcomed everyone to the surprise gathering.

  “In my experience,” he said. “These things usually have a little more planning, but I see now that much of that planning is simply time wasted.”

  A gentle ripple of laughter washed across the room.

  “But when you know, you know,” he said. He went through the usual preliminaries, about the solemn nature of that which we were about to undertake and the spiritual and legal ramifications of it all. I barely heard a word. It was taking all of my focus for my hands to not be shaking like I was having some kind of fit. It was alarming but not unexpected that I felt not a tremor in the steady hands of Danielle Castle.

  When he was done, the ball-playing pastor asked us if we had, as unlikely as it was, any prepared vows. We both shrugged, and then he asked us if we would like to say something, perhaps off-the-cuff. He looked at me like a comedian selecting an audience member to be the butt of a joke for everybody else’s enjoyment. I took another one of my long, rhythmic breaths to hold my voice together.

  “I’m not sure there’s anything to say now that I haven’t said before,” I said, looking into Danielle’s eyes. “But I’m sure, at the same time, that there is so much left to be said. You came to me when I couldn’t see any good in humanity anymore, and you proved to me that I was wrong. You made me well again, and then you made me strong again, and then you made me happy. And if I’ve waited too long to stand here before you, it’s simply because I’m a coward and a fool and consumed by the notion that what I have with you simply couldn’t be better.”

  I looked into Danielle’s eyes deeper than I ever had before. They were steady and sharp, but I could see the moisture forming around the edges, yearning to burst forth.

  “I was wrong. I should’ve seen it earlier, because I’ve been wrong the whole time. It can get better. It does get better. Every day with you in my life is better than the one that came before. Sometimes in ways that a man can measure. In the number of smiles, and the laughs, and the people he has helped simply because he knows that’s what you would do. And then, of course, there are the tax breaks.”

  Danielle rolled her eyes.

  “I thought for the longest time that this whole marriage thing was about telling the world that you belonged to me. I was wrong again. It’s not about that at all. The opposite is true. It’s about me standing up in front of anyone who will listen and telling them that it means that I am yours, that you will put up with me. And my promise to you is this: I will spend every day from this point on proving to you t
hat I am worthy. That helping me get well, get strong, get happy, was worth the effort.”

  Pastor Fuentes looked at me to confirm I was done, then turned his eyes to Danielle.

  “You’re under a misapprehension,” she said. “That when Lenny passed I was there to pick up the pieces, to make you strong. What you don’t realize, have never realized, is just how strong you are. Back then I guess the truth is, I felt a little broken myself. I was alone, again,” she said. I felt her resist the temptation to look at her father.

  “But when we met, I saw someone whose broken edges kind of fit with mine. It wasn’t you who got lucky. I didn’t turn up at your house with a six-pack in my hand because I wanted to save you. I came because what I saw during that whole time was a man who would do anything for the people he loves. And when you’re thinking about the rest of your life, about who you want to spend all your remaining days with, being with someone who you know will do anything for the ones he loves is a pretty good starting point.”

  She jutted her chin, the way she did when she wanted her voice to have that gravitas that was so important to law enforcement people. “We’ve both had our fair share of bumps and bruises, giggles and tears, good times and bad. Like all people do. And it hasn’t been all smooth sailing, not all the time. We’ve faced challenges, and we will again. But I can promise you this, Miami Jones. I will repay every smile with a smile, and every kiss with a kiss. I will stand shoulder to shoulder to battle the demons when they come, and I will put out two glasses every time I open a bottle of wine. I’m not here because you validate me. I’m here because I love you, and that means I have no damn choice in the matter.”

  I smiled, and as expected, she was true to her word and returned it with a smile of her own. I took another deep breath—in through my nose and out through my mouth—not at all confident in my ability to not start blubbering like an idiot.

  Pastor Fuentes took control again and asked if I had a ring. I turned to Jane, and she handed it to me. As Pastor Fuentes asked me if I took Danielle as my legally wedded wife, I slipped the ring on her finger.

  “I do,” I said.

  Danielle made a face that was half frown and half smile. She looked at the ring and then at me. “You had this ready to go?”

  “I wish. Sally had it sent over from a guy he knows in Scottsdale.”

  Danielle glanced at my phone on the tripod in the middle of the aisle and then over at the television screen beside us. She was looking at Sally, sitting in his pawn shop on the wrong side of the turnpike on Okeechobee Boulevard. He must have had his computer on mute, because we couldn’t hear him, but we could see him crying like a fool. Dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief that was barely able to stem the flow.

  Danielle turned back to me with a smile. “Tough guy,” she said.

  “With a heart as big as Texas.”

  “And do you, Danielle, have a ring?” asked Pastor Fuentes.

  I squeezed her hand. “It’s okay,” I said. “I know you don’t. I did spring this whole thing on you. I figure I come out pretty well in the deal, anyway.”

  Danielle dropped her eyes from me down to her open hand. There was a ring sitting in the middle of her palm. Now it was my turn to frown.

  “From where?” I asked.

  “It’s my dad’s.”

  I came close to losing motor function in my legs. I spun around and looked toward Ryan Castle, who, despite his collapsed body, was able to offer me a slight nod. I gave him an unspoken thank-you in return. Then I turned back to his daughter.

  “Do you, Danielle Castle, take Morgan Jones to be your lawful married husband?”

  She didn’t smile as she slipped the ring on my finger. If I had to say, if I were pressed, I would have called the look pride, but that couldn’t possibly have been right.

  “I do.”

  “Then by the power vested in me by the Almighty and, at least for the day, by the state of Arizona, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife.” Pastor Fuentes looked at me and then looked at Danielle and winked. “You may kiss him now.”

  She did. Tastefully, I thought, given that we were in a chapel inside a hospice. We turned to the gathered congregation, who cheered like someone had just hit a humdinger over center field. I heard the popping of champagne corks via video feed from numerous locations. In Mesa, we would have to do with apple cider for now.

  Danielle and I stood at the front of the room to receive everyone’s congratulations one by one. There were more people there than I ever expected to be at my wedding, if I ever expected such a thing, and I noted that none of them were who I would’ve expected to be there. Life, like pitchers, sometimes throws you a curveball. It doesn’t pay to leave every pitch any more than it does to swing like a madman. Sometimes you just gotta play the ball on its merits.

  We accepted everyone’s warm wishes, shaking a lot of hands and kissing a lot of cheeks. The players all filed down one side of the room, shook hands with each of us, and then filed back up the other side. I wasn’t sure who had organized that maneuver, but I figured whoever could wrangle a squad of baseball players like that would have a bright future as a major-league manager.

  I took my phone from the tripod and carried it over to the television so we could see our distant friends and family as they saw us. We toasted at our end with plastic cups of apple cider and champagne on the other end. Danielle’s mom told her that she was happy and proud of not only what she had done but where and when. Our Florida family told us they were putting more bubbles on ice for our return.

  When the congratulations were done, Joe Fuentes led an apple cider toast, and as people drank, Nurse Gabriela sidled up to us and whispered that Ryan was starting to flag.

  “It’s a lot of effort for him,” she said. “He’s getting a bit tired.”

  We stepped over to Danielle’s father as Nurse Gabriela moved in behind his wheelchair. Danielle leaned down and kissed Ryan.

  “I love you,” she said.

  Ryan wheezed and coughed as he breathed. “I love you,” he said in a whisper. “Both of you.”

  I noticed that Jane had moved in beside Danielle, and Ryan’s focus was on the two of them. Jane leaned down and kissed her father, and I could see the tears welling in Ryan’s eyes. Nurse Gabriela moved his chair so he could look at me. I knew he didn’t have the strength to lift his hand, so I took his and shook it gently.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Ryan Castle slowly closed his eyes and then opened them again. “No,” he said. “Thank you. This is as great a last memory as a man could have.”

  I placed his hand gently back on the armrest of his wheelchair. “I’m sure there’ll be more,” I said.

  Danielle and Jane told their father they would see him tomorrow, and Nurse Gabriela turned him around and wheeled him away. Once he was gone, Marvin Tibbs made his way to the front of the room. He gave Danielle a peck on the cheek, then he shook my hand.

  “Well, we have a game to get to,” he said.

  “Did I miss something?” asked Danielle. “Why are you guys even here?”

  “We lost our bus driver,” said Marvin, glancing at me.

  “How did you lose your bus driver?”

  “Miami popped him.”

  Danielle gave me the frown where the dimple appeared between her eyebrows. “You what?”

  “It’s a long story. But I need to get these guys to the ball game.”

  Danielle raised her eyebrows now. “You what?” she repeated.

  “Listen,” said Marvin. “I figure you guys don’t have a reception planned, right? Come do it at the ballpark. All the hot dogs and beer you could want, on the A’s.”

  Marvin and I both looked at Danielle like Labradors in desperate need of a walk. She dropped the eyebrows, lost the frown, and smiled.

  “How can I resist an offer like that?”

  Chapter Thirty

  When I pulled the bus to a stop out front of Hohokam Stadium, John Cashman was standing there waiting for us
. I stayed in the driver’s seat, and Danielle and Jane in the front row directly behind me, until all the players had disembarked. They weren’t late for the game, but there wouldn’t be much practicing, and I hoped Marvin Tibbs wouldn’t pay the price.

  When everyone was off, I gestured for Danielle and Jane to step down and then I followed them out and closed the door. Cashman was standing there with his arms outstretched.

  “Where the hell have you guys been?”

  One of the players—the one who had been talking over my shoulder back when I had spoken with Nurse Gabriela on the phone—picked up a duffel bag and turned to Cashman.

  “Miami and Danielle just got married.”

  “Married?” said Cashman.

  “Yeah,” said the player, offering Cashman a slap on the back as he headed off toward the locker room.

  Cashman watched the players walk away and then turned back to me. He took a couple of steps closer, and for a moment I readied myself for a punch in the nose.

  Instead, Cashman offered me his hand. “Congratulations,” he said.

  I shook his hand, and then he offered his congratulations to Danielle and introduced himself to Jane.

  “So what are you guys doing here?”

  “I was promised a hot dog reception,” said Danielle.

  Cashman shook his head. “Huh? No way.”

  I wondered if Ricky Spence had ensured I was persona non grata at the ballpark. “Why not?” I asked.

  “Hot dog reception?” said Cashman. “Not on my watch. You’re all coming up to my suite. I’ve got champagne.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Jane.

  “I was promised hot dogs,” said Danielle with a grin.

  “Oh, we can arrange that, too,” said Cashman. Cashman directed us into the stadium with a wave of his hand at the turnstile operator, like he was the lord of all he surveyed. Perhaps he was. As we made our way toward the corporate suite, I allowed Jane and Danielle to drop in ahead of us and slipped in beside Cashman.