The crowd went crazy once more, and Duke felt a minor jump in her heart, not for excitement over the game, but at the thought of how close the catch had been made to the Grettanos’ section. Were they screaming their heads off? She couldn’t imagine Charlie in a crowd like this. Had his inner lion consumed him? Did Molly explain the play to him, or did he roar along with the rest of the mob even without understanding why? What about Joe? Had he been swept up into the frenzy as well? His hope had been rewarded up until this point. He should be ecstatic, but would he be able to relax until the final out flashed across the scoreboard? He always kept his optimism guarded, like his mother.
Molly—what did she make of all the high drama? Did she believe, like Joe, or did her own pain and expectation of disappointment prevent her from enjoying the moment? Was she smiling the radiant smile Duke longed to have directed at her once more, or did worry lines crease her forehead like they had the last time they’d spoken to one another? Duke wished again she was with them all. She wanted to see their reactions for herself but knew if she were down there, she’d likely wish she was back in the press box. She didn’t want to be with Molly and the boys right now. She wanted to be with them three months ago, and that wasn’t any more possible than willing a team into the post-season.
She typed a few notes on the game story she’d been writing since the third inning. Win or lose, she didn’t feel like sticking around here any longer than she had to. She hoped to have everything but a few quotes already written before the game ended. She was so focused on finishing quickly she didn’t even look up when Jordan Alverez stepped to the plate. The last great hope of the Reds to clinch the pennant tonight and render the final game of the season useless was a solid batter. He hit for average, he hit for power, and Duke fully expected him to do both against the Cardinals closer. From the changing sound of the crowd, tense and suddenly subdued, many of them expected, or at least suspected, the worst as well.
She never saw the pitch. With her head bowed over her tablet she only heard the ball strike the bat. The crack echoed crisp and clean through the cool air, a sound she associated instinctually with impending fireworks. Years of following baseball had produced a Pavlovian response to the sound, and she raised her head, her eyes immediately locking onto the ball as it shot toward centerfield. Cayden Brooks sprinted toward the wall, but Duke and everyone else in the ballpark could tell he was going to run out of room before the ball did. Its trajectory had it going almost a foot over the wall. All around her and out into the stands, people rose to their feet, silently willing it to drop a little lower, but the ball would not bend. It would not budge even an inch from its line.
Cayden Brooks, however, was not so unmoved. Running full speed across the warning track, his eyes trained on the ball, he leapt only in the final second, his cleats digging into the green pads of the outfield fence and his free hand pushing up off the top of the wall to accentuate his ascent. Extending his arm to full reach, he trapped the ball in the webbing of his glove. The force of the shot bent his wrist back at an unnatural angle, dipping it all the way below the outside of the wall, but when he snapped it back up, the ball was clearly still in place. He hung from the wall for the few stunned seconds it took him and the more than forty thousand spectators to realize what had happened. Then the explosion of cheers rocked Cardinals Nation, not just the fans, but also the coaches, the players, the camera crew and announcers. Even the reporters went wild. Everywhere around her, people screamed and jumped, hugging and high-fiving one another. Big, old, gray, and jaded newspaper men shrieked and pounded their chests, laughing like little boys.
Duke remained rooted in shock and awe amid the chaos. Her current mental state had no method for processing astounding feats of heroism. She simply lifted her tablet and typed, “Another elimination game tomorrow night,” then hit “send” to share on a variety of social media platforms.
She probably should’ve said more, done more, felt more, but she didn’t. She couldn’t even pretend she wanted to play it cool, minimalist, classic. She’d just witnessed the biggest play of her career thus far, and all she could think about was having to go through everything again tomorrow.
“Holy shit,” Cooper said, slapping one of his big paws on her shoulder and shaking it. “Ho-lee shit!”
She turned around to look at him but almost didn’t recognize what she saw. He was smiling, a real, genuine smile. It stretched his cheeks tightly, making the stubble of his five o’clock shadow stand on end. The look was completely foreign, all beard and teeth. She’d sat beside him for 161 games, and she couldn’t recall ever having seen his teeth. They were straight and even, if a little yellow. His joy made her feel strange, as if she’d shown up to a funeral only to find everyone else had come for a keg party.
“What’s wrong with you?” Cooper asked with a laugh shaking his beer belly. “You’ve been vindicated. All your little Mary Sunshine predictions and annoying optimism about the team and Brooks and the post-season…Christ.”
He stared at her, waiting for some answer to his convoluted question, but she had none to offer. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Well, she did, sort of. She missed Molly and the kids. She felt sad about coming up short for them. The sting of failure still clung to her, and the fact that she’d had to choose between them and baseball had put a damper on the end of the season. Still, she had chosen, and the decision in her wake had come down strongly on the side of the game. Everything happening right now should have only affirmed her choice and strengthened her resolve. The game had rewarded her with the stuff dreams were built and sustained on. Baseball had shown her the very best it had to offer, a beautiful gift for her devotion, and still she felt anything but blessed.
“I’m fine,” she said, “just a little freaked out. I’ve never seen you so damn giddy before.”
“What can I say? I’m in love.” He laughed again and tossed a stack of score sheets and charts on the table with a dramatic flourish she wouldn’t have thought him capable of. “I’m done hiding it. You showed me the error of my bitter ways.”
“What are you talking about?”
“No matter how many times it hurts me, no matter how hard I try to guard myself against the letdown, no matter how crusty and jaded I become, this game always does something like that.” He pointed to the outfield wall as if he could still see Cayden Brooks hauling the home run back over the fence. “And I fall in love all over again.”
She stared at him in disbelief. How could Cooper Pachol be a grinning mess of sunshine and daisies at the prospect of a one-game, winner-take-all pennant race while she sat with her jaw clenched and her shoulders tensed for the same reason?
This wasn’t how she expected her first season in the big leagues to end. This was her dream coming true. The culmination of her life’s yearning, both on and off the field, couldn’t really end in her complete disillusionment with the game, could it?
“It’s flippin’ grand,” Cooper said, still grinning like a fool.
“What?”
“Being in love all over again, after all this time.”
She eyed him suspiciously. Maybe he was screwing with her. Maybe he’d had a mental break, but his smile, as weird as it felt to her, seemed genuine. His eyes were clear and focused, his cheeks pink with life instead of red with alcohol. He even seemed healthier, as if believing in something else made him better or stronger than he’d been on his own. Hell, he looked younger.
The thought reminded her of Joe and his youthful exuberance. What if his belief wasn’t the product of his innocence, but of love? What if it wasn’t a pitching matchup, or a big bat, or a gold glove at the heart of this game? What if the heart of the game, really, was found in her heart?
There was no what if to the question. She knew the answer. She’d known it all along. Love had always driven this game for her, and as much as she tried to close herself off from that emotion, she couldn’t. She was in love every bit as much as Cooper or Joe, only she was in love with
Molly. She’d tried to convince herself she couldn’t love them both, that somehow a divided love was a weakened one, but maybe the opposite was true. What if she couldn’t be in love and closed off from it at the same time? Could love ever come at the expense of love? Or was it an all-or-nothing sort of game?
After seeing first Joe and now Cooper display all the love she lacked, she wondered if baseball didn’t require a pure heart, a strong heart, a whole heart. Hers wasn’t any of those things anymore. Without Molly her heart wasn’t just broken, part of it was gone, and without that part the whole couldn’t function. She’d given up the possibility of one great love in order to preserve another, and in the end she’d lost them both.
She’d worried all along she couldn’t love Molly the way she deserved with baseball in the way, but now she realized she couldn’t fully love baseball anymore either, not with part of her heart missing. She’d feared she couldn’t have them both, but now she suspected she couldn’t have either of them.
*
Duke stepped out of the crowded tunnel of the main concourse and into the fading light of the September evening. As she neared the lower level of the stadium, she reached instinctively for her press pass, patting first her stomach, then her chest, and running her fingers up to her neck before realizing it wasn’t there. Exhaling heavily, she slipped her hand into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out the paper ticket she’d used to get through the main gate. She held it tightly until the sides of the card stock pressed a thin line into her palm.
“Ticket,” she whispered, remembering the first time she’d held one in her hand. Even then she’d known it would lead to something amazing, but she could never have understood the cost of such an item. She had understood its magic, though. Looking out onto the field, she saw the scene again, the vast expanse, the vibrant colors, burnt orange to emerald green, dotted with a heavenly white of the home uniforms. She looked down at her own attire—the birds on the bat were still an exact replica of those on the field, but her mind no longer played fast and loose with those connections. Still, the same unnamable force that pulled her forward then guided her through the crowd tonight, only now she wasn’t headed toward the players.
Turning toward the section that had become so entangled and embattled with the force of the field, she stopped short when she saw Molly. She was standing at the end of the row, and the crowd parted in some silent agreement not to obstruct any view of her. Duke froze and stared. Her dark jeans hugged the curves Duke loved to trace. Her fingers twitched and contracted at the memory of skin beneath the denim. Molly’s white jersey covered a long-sleeved red turtleneck, and her hair was tucked under a navy blue ball cap before spilling out the back and down her shoulders. Their eyes met, and Duke watched the soundless intake of breath raise Molly’s chest. Sadness, regret, and craving mingled quickly and shot between them, only to be returned in equal measure.
She stood, transfixed, for what felt like years before she sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging, and she forced a smile she knew everyone could tell was fake. Her heart beat a hollow bass drum through her chest and ears.
“Hi,” Molly said.
Her muscles warred between the lethargic ache of their separation and the burning urge to pull her close once more. Instead, she stepped only close enough to be out of arm’s reach. “Hi.”
Would this awkwardness never end? How had they gone from making love and transforming lives to grasping vainly for basic conversation? Thankfully, the kids saved them once again.
“Hey, Duke,” Joe said with a grin, “I told you we’d be okay.”
Duke nodded and tried to swallow the lump of emotion choking her. She didn’t feel okay. She couldn’t even answer him. She looked away, down at her shoes.
Charlie scrambled onto his seat, standing so he could brace himself with one tiny hand on the back of the red stadium chair and reach out to her with the other. Putting his palm on her chest where her lanyard usually hung, he eyed her sadly. “Oh, Duke. You losed your necklace.”
She always thought of Joe as the intuitive one, but Charlie’s skills of observation were not to be underestimated. Few details ever got by him, and now that he’d brought them up, they wouldn’t get by the others either.
She tried to sound as casual as possible when she cleared her throat and said, “It’s not lost. I’m not working tonight.”
“What?” all three of them asked in unison.
“I took the night off.”
“How?” Molly asked.
“I called Beach and told him I couldn’t do it. He’s got some hotshot sportswriter out of Illinois State looking to get innings in. Who knows, maybe I gave the next Buzz Bissinger his big career break.”
“What about your career? Isn’t this suicide for you?”
“Well, he didn’t fire me on the spot, so that has to count for something.” She didn’t want to think about Beach’s reaction last night. She didn’t want to think about the implications for next season either. If she got back on track, she’d be sure to make it up to him. But right now that didn’t seem likely. “I know this will confirm to a lot of people that I don’t have what it takes, but I had to do what’s best for the team, and right now that’s not me, I’m not much good to anyone right now.”
“Don’t say that,” Molly said softly as she lifted her hand like she wanted to stroke Duke’s hair. She longed to feel her touch, to feel anything other than the cold that stiffened her limbs, but she didn’t. Molly dropped her hand and looked away. “I’m sorry. Maybe we shouldn’t be here.”
“No. This is the best place for you now, for your whole family.” She nodded to the boys and dropped her voice. “Joe still believes. He’s still got this game running through his blood. He belongs here.”
“And what about you?”
Duke shrugged again.
Molly turned to Joe and said, “Keep an eye on your brother.” They stepped out into the aisle behind their seats, far enough away to avoid little ears, but not enough for the kids to escape their eyes. The position put them between the constant stream of people pouring in and the field on which all their focus rested.
“You’re scaring me. What are you doing?” Molly finally asked. “You could destroy everything you worked for.” More softly she added, “Is this because of me?”
“I don’t know.”
“This.” She held out her arms to the stadium, the field, and all it encompassed. “This is your passion, this is what you live for. Even I can see that now. Don’t you feel all the excitement swirling around you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t feel anything. It’s the biggest night of my career, everything I dreamed of, and I don’t feel anything but cold and hollow.”
“Then why are you here if it hurts so much, if the work is gone and the game is empty?”
“The game isn’t empty. I am. I’m not who I was, but you are, and so are the boys. That’s why I’m here, for you, and for them. I promised I’d be here always and I’d never let you down.” She choked out the last part. “I mean, I know I let you down, but I’m not going to do it again.”
Molly’s eyes glistened, endless depths of emotion shimmering to the surface. “Even if it hurts you?”
“Even if it kills me.”
“I never wanted that. Even when I was so mad at you, even when you hurt me, I never wanted to break a heart as beautiful as yours.”
“My heart is broken, shattered even, but you didn’t do that. I did,” Duke admitted. “I wasn’t the partner you deserved. I didn’t give you my all. I didn’t even give you my best. I didn’t put you and the kids ahead of my job, and I was wrong, no matter what my job may be or how much it meant to me. I wasn’t fair to you.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t completely fair to you, either. I know baseball’s more than a job,” Molly said. “Maybe that’s what scared me most, or maybe I was jealous. You loved so freely, and I worried if I let myself believe in something that wonderful I’d only hurt worse when I lo
st it.”
“You can’t ever lose me, Molly.”
“I know that now. I should have known then, too. I spent so many years shadowboxing my own demons I didn’t know any other way. I shouldn’t have pulled you into those fights, though.”
“Yes, you should have. Your fights should’ve been my fights. We should’ve fought them together.”
“No, we shouldn’t have been fighting the past at all. You were something new, something bright and beautiful. I should’ve looked toward a future with you instead of pulling you into my past.” Molly hung her head. “I was scared of being left again, and envious of how easily you opened up your heart, but I never should have pinned my issues on everyone else.”
“You are my issue, Molly. I’m sorry I was so wrapped up in my own world, in this world.” She indicated the field. “You were right to call me out, and I’m sorry you had to do so more than once.”
“I don’t get any satisfaction in being right if this is what it means for us.”
“But you were right. I fell short of every ideal I professed to hold. You were right to say I wasn’t giving you my best, and you were right about you and the boys deserving better.” Duke rubbed her face. “You were right on absolutely every point but one.”
Molly raised her eyebrows. “Which one?”
“The biggest one,” Duke said, then bit her lip so hard it hurt. She wasn’t sure how she’d get through the next part, but her heart forced her to try. “You said I’d never love anything the way I love baseball, and that’s untrue, because that’s exactly how I love you.”
Heart of the Game Page 28
