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Scout's Honor
by Stephanie Doyle
CHAPTER ONE
SCOUT STARED AT the gathering around the grave site and tried to remember how she’d gotten here. It wasn’t as if she had forgotten the past three months of her life. Of course she hadn’t. Nothing would ever take away that time. That horrible beautiful time when she got to care for her dying father and be with him as he slipped away from this world.
She’d read baseball biographies to him while he slept. They’d watched classic World Series games on the MLB Network channel when he was awake. She’d even allowed her sisters to have time with him. After all they were his daughters, too, and they also loved him, so it seemed only fair.
Yes, Lane and Samantha deserved their time with Duff. But when it came time for the serious stuff—the pain meds, the oxygen and then finally the morphine drip—that had been all Scout.
With the help of Sarah, the hospice nurse. Scout was convinced the woman had been sent from some mystical land of grace and peace. A perfect companion during a dark time who seemed to make it all so easy for Scout, Sarah had given simple, clear directions that Scout had followed ruthlessly.
A drop of morphine every six hours. Then two drops, then three drops. Then three drops every three hours, two hours and one hour as required by the pain.
Slowly and gently easing Duff’s way.
Duff had been spared what the nurse had told her could be truly awful pain. He’d been lucky in that regard. Or maybe the whole thing had gone easier for him because he hadn’t had any thought of fighting death.
He’d said it every day until the day he stopped speaking: “Sad to go, but the game has to end.”
His game ended four days and two hours ago.
Standing at this grave site, Scout could see she was wearing a black coat over a black dress, except she had no idea how she’d gotten here. Really no idea what had happened in these past four days.
She thought she remembered falling...
“Scout, it’s done,” Lane said now, approaching her cautiously. She wrapped an arm around Scout’s waist for comfort and perhaps steadiness. Had she hurt her head when she’d fallen? Is that why she couldn’t remember?
She tried to respond, but it felt difficult to form words in her mouth.
“Okay.” It was conceivable that had been the first thing she’d said in the past four days.
“We need to go back to the stadium.”
Jocelyn Taft Wright, the owner of the Minotaur Falls Triple A baseball team and stadium, had decided Duff Baker’s funeral reception should be held there. After all it was going to be a major baseball event and probably the only place in town that would hold such a large crowd of people.
Duff Baker had been a legend in the game of baseball, first as a Hall of Fame player and then as a World Series–winning manager. His time managing the Minotaurs had just been his way of retiring while still staying connected to the game. He would joke about dying in his baseball uniform. In the end it was a close thing.
So not only was the entire town planning on attending, but also a good chunk of the Major and Minor League Baseball world—Duff’s other family—would be there. Old teammates. Former players he’d coached. The current roster for the Minotaurs, a lot of the players devastated by his death. And the press, reporters all now writing what they hoped would be their epic tributes to one of the game’s best.
Heck, the commissioner of baseball was coming and planned to speak.
Scout didn’t mind. Although the pomp and circumstance were interfering with her need to hide in her closet for oh, say, the next year, she knew it was Duff’s due.
She wanted this for him. She wanted him to have the accolades and the speeches. And then when the season opened in the spring it would all start again. Duff’s daughters would be expected to make appearances at various different events. Throw out opening balls. Be there for tribute games in the cities where Duff had made his biggest impact as both a player and a manager.
They had even been called by ESPN to do a documentary on Duff and the game of baseball. Scout wasn’t ready to go there yet, but that he warranted such a tribute meant something to her.
And just the other morning she’d heard Mike and Mike on the radio offering their condolences to the Baker family. That had been nice.
“Scout, come on,” Lane said, shaking her gently. Not that it helped. Scout agreed it was time to go but she couldn’t find the energy to move. It was more numbness than anything else. As if a heavy fog had settled over her brain.
“Lane, Scout. We need to go. Now.”
The two of them looked over to their older sister, Samantha. Scout thought she looked way too pretty for a funeral. Her blond bob was perfectly slick to her chin and her stylishly thin body was wrapped in a caramel-colored coat that Scout knew felt as soft to the touch as fur but of course couldn’t be, because Samantha loved animals.
Samantha had come and gone every weekend these past few months. working desperately to repair the relationship with her father that had broken down in the years since their parents’ divorce.
It wasn’t that they fought. It’s just that she didn’t openly adore Duff the way his other two daughters did. Knowing Duff and loving Duff, Scout found that to be impossible.
How could anyone not adore Duff?
How could anyone keep a distance from him?
How was Scout supposed to survive now that he was dead?
The idea of survival without him was a doozy that kept hitting Scout at all hours of the day. It had been on her mind throughout the ordeal of his dying. It was even more persistent now that he was gone. Because there was no going back.
The finality of death was truly a bizarre thing. For three months she’d been preparing herself for the event. For three months she’d been grieving, wondering when it would finally happen. For three months she’d been looking ahead to this day knowing it would come and knowing there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop it.
She’d thought she’d accepted his loss on some level. She’d thought she had prepared herself.
How utterly stupid of her.
“She’s not moving,” Lane said.
Samantha sighed as she walked toward them.
As a rule Scout and Samantha weren’t close. During the divorce Samantha, who had been just starting college at the time, had stayed in touch regularly with their mother. Sam would even go so far as to try to convince Scout that there were two sides to every story.
Given that Scout believed her mother to be a traitorous bitch, that logic was unacceptable.
But during these last few months as Scout watched Samantha and Duff find their way, she’d been trying to be high-minded about the whole thing.
For Samantha’s part she would always pull Scout back to reality. To the present.
Scout could have hated her for that but she had needed Samantha’s discipline to get through these last few months so she could be the caregiver Duff needed her to be.
“I’m moving,” Scout mumbled. Words still felt funny in her mouth. Like what she thought she was saying wasn’t actua
lly what people were hearing.
Lane gave her another push and then Samantha was walking in step beside her. A limo was waiting for them. Roy Walker was waiting for them there.
“She holding up?” he asked his wife.
Lane was Roy’s wife.
So crazy, Scout thought. They’d married...what was it...only six weeks ago? Lane always said she hated Roy Walker, but Scout had known. She’d always seen the truth between them.
“She’s moving, which is good,” Lane said to him. “Let’s get her in the car.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” Scout snapped.
She knew she wasn’t herself. Fine. But everyone was treating her as if she was somehow different from her two sisters, who had also lost their father. Different from everyone else who had been at the funeral and was grieving.
Why were they doing that?
“It’s the drugs,” Samantha explained to Roy and Lane.
Drugs. Of course. That’s why she felt this way. Numb and foggy. As if she had no power over her mind and body.
“You drugged me?” She asked the question of Samantha, but she could see Lane wince.
“Honey, you needed something,” Lane said, apparently defending what had obviously been Sam’s call. “It’s just a Valium to relax you. Now come on. Let’s get you in the car.”
They had drugged her. Her sisters had done that. Scout planned to be very angry about that as soon as she could think again.
“Was she here?” Scout asked suddenly suspicious of everything. Now that she knew she’d been drugged, who knew what kind of evil her sisters intended. “Yes,” Samantha said matter-of-factly. “I told you she would be.”
“I don’t want to see her,” Scout said.
“Too bad, Elizabeth,” a woman from inside the limo said. “I’m your mother and, whether you realize it or not, you need me right now.”
Scout shook her head. “Did someone just call me Elizabeth?”
A leg, then a body and then a head got out of the car. Suddenly Alice formerly-Baker-now-Sullivan was standing in front of Scout. The traitorous mother she didn’t want to see.
Not today of all days.
She hadn’t been able to stop her mother from calling these past few months. Not that Scout had had much to say to her. It seemed Duff had, though, because they’d spoken a lot.
“Yes, I called you Elizabeth. Because it’s what I named you. Now let’s get in the car and do this thing. You look like you could drop at any moment. Have you eaten anything in the past four days?”
Scout looked directly at Samantha. “I’m going to need more drugs.”
Samantha had the nerve to smile.
They all got into the limo and Scout made a point of sitting across from her mother so she wouldn’t have to touch her, but that made it difficult not to look at her.
She’d caught a break when Alice and Bob had been in Europe and couldn’t make it for Lane’s wedding. Scout gave her mother some credit for not causing Lane any grief over the speedy wedding, knowing it had been important to her for Duff to see his middle child marry.
As a result she hadn’t seen her mother in almost two years. Not since the last time Duff had forced her to go visit. Those visits would always end with Scout leaving early because the sad truth was, she and her mother had nothing to say to each other.
Alice was still beautiful for a woman in her sixties. Duff had married later in life, and he always said it was because he’d been waiting for Alice to grow up. He used to say he wanted to marry the prettiest girl he ever saw and it just took fate and time awhile for them to meet.
“Was she in the limo on the way to the grave site? Did I somehow miss that?” Scout asked Lane, trying to understand how she was now in a car with her mother. Her mother, who she had been hoping to avoid for as long as she could.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alice said. “Bob drove me to the funeral and will meet up with me at the stadium. I just couldn’t tolerate seeing you standing there so lost. I thought driving over to the stadium with you would be best. I’m sure I’ll say something to anger you, which might give you the jolt of energy you need. You look positively frightening, Elizabeth.”
Raging anger cleared away her drug-hazed state. Her mother was right. “Don’t call me Elizabeth,” Scout growled. “You know I hate it.”
“Yes. You do.” Her mother sighed. “I’m sorry, Scout. I’m truly not here to make this day harder for you. I’m here because you need me.”
Scout snorted. “I do not need you. I do not need anyone. Apparently all I need is some Valium.”
“Look, guys,” Sam said, “can we not do this now? We’re all grieving, and we’re all sad. Let’s just get through the rest of this day together.”
“Why is Mom sad?” Scout wanted to know. “She left Duff for Bob. Bob isn’t dead.”
Alice closed her eyes as if she were searching for inner strength. It was a look Scout knew well because she was the one who often put that expression on her mother’s face.
“I know this is hard for you to believe but I did love your father for a very long time. We just couldn’t make it work. We’re not the first couple in history to have that happen and we won’t be the last. You’re twenty-nine years old. Not a child. It’s time for you to understand that and grow up.”
Scout shook her head. “I’m sorry...was someone saying something just then? I am, like, really messed up.”
“Play your games, Scout. It won’t matter to me. I’m not going anywhere and you’re going to figure that out very quickly.”
“Why not, when I so desperately want you to go?”
“Because I’m the only parent you have left. Deal with it.”
Scout had something to say in retaliation but the words got lost in the fog. The sadness was back.
Duff was gone.
And nothing was ever going to be the same.
* * *
JAYSON LEBEC STOOD back a little from the crowd gathering at the entrance to the stadium as mourners continued to arrive. Seats and tables had been set up. A full lunch service had been catered. Many mingled on the baseball diamond to talk about one thing and one thing only and that was the late great Duff Baker.
In some ways it still seemed surreal that Jayson was back here in Minotaur Falls. That he was now the manager of the town’s Triple A baseball club and filling the shoes Duff had left empty.
“Hey, I know you. You’re the Face Guy.”
Jayson turned at the use of his infamous baseball name and saw Reuben, the general manager of the Rebels, and Greg, the new head of scouting. Greg was pointing at him and smiling.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Greg asked.
He was. It was Jayson’s claim to fame in baseball. In his debut game in the majors he’d run down a fly ball as hard as he could and lost track of his position on the field. He ended up slamming face-first into the right outfield wall. The harsh part was that the padding that should have offered some protection had fallen off in that particular spot so his face had made direct contact with the brick behind it.
The brick won. His face lost. He did, however, manage to hold on to the ball.
The doctors had to induce a coma to allow his brain to heal. Then came the job of the plastic surgeons putting his face back together. In total, he’d had five different surgeries.
Of course, because of some lingering aftereffects like dizziness and blurred vision, he would never play again. Which was why he didn’t actually like being called the Face Guy.
But in baseball once you had a nickname, it stuck.
“Jayson LeBec,” Jayson said holding out his hand. He knew Greg by reputation as a former Major League pitcher. Greg was older, probably in his midfifties, and had been long gone from the game by the time Jayson arrived.
“Actually, Jayson has been with us for some time, haven’t you? He’s just new to this job, but he’s been a loyal Rebel for many years. Isn’t that right?” Reuben said.
“That’s right. Almost five years now.” Jayson wasn’t sure why but he felt as if Reuben’s use of the word loyal had some other meaning behind it. As if Reuben wanted to assure himself that he still had Jayson’s loyalty over anyone else.
“Couldn’t be happier to have both of you as part of the team,” Reuben said congenially. “My, this is some turnout. Duff would have been pleased.”
“Yeah. He would have,” Jayson said around a sudden lump in his throat.
“I understand you know his daughter Scout Baker personally,” Greg said casually. He took a sip from the beer in his hand.
Jayson looked over to where he’d last seen Scout standing. She was still there with Lane’s arm around her waist, as if Lane was holding her up, while people approached to offer their condolences.
“I do. Yes.”
“I’ve heard some things about her,” Reuben said. “From the players. Seems like she was holding things together down here for a long time. A very long time.”
Jayson wasn’t absolutely sure how to respond to that. He knew it was true, but he couldn’t get a read on whether Reuben was being complimentary or not.
“I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t here then.”
“I was sort of surprised by how young she is,” Greg said. “I mean, a woman baseball scout, that’s odd enough. But still in her twenties? Don’t you think that’s crazy?”
Jayson didn’t like the smile on the man’s face. Like Scout’s position on the Rebels was some kind of joke. “She learned the game of baseball from Duff Baker starting at the age of five. I think that might make her more qualified than any other scout I know.”
“Of course,” Reuben said, patting Jayson on the shoulder. “Poor thing, though, losing her father. You let her know I said to take all the time she needs to recover. There is absolutely no need to come rushing back.”
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