A Life of Inches

by Douglas Esper

  The laughter and cheering erupt even louder than before.

  I mouth, “Really?” at Molly.

  She nods.

  I shake the President’s outstretched hand. “Mr. Huntley, I would be honored to accept.”

  From behind the head of the Cleveland Indians organization, two women appear holding various jerseys, jackets, and hats with a brand new logo emblazoned on them.

  Grabbing a jersey I’ve dreamt about since my youth, I size it up, and then, I give it away. Woodie appears stunned as I hold it out to him. “My first act as manager is to hire my bench coach.”

  Woodie puts on the jersey, and takes a few moments to look down and appreciate what the uniform represents. He grabs onto my shoulder as we face the press, both wearing our Indians gear. “I’ve known this man for years, and hope that now he’s hit the big time, he will remember all the good times we had before we became enemies.”

  The reporters laugh and clap as Woodie continues. “Folks, I am proud to introduce, Ryan Kelly, the next manager of the Cleveland Indians.”

  Chapter Thirty

  A Couple Hours Later

  I squeeze both Molly’s and Moe’s hand for the millionth time as we reach the security checkpoint that leads to my departure gate. Just a few hours ago, I lost the biggest game of my career to my best friend and then proceeded to land my dream job. Since then, my life has been a whirlwind of questions for my family as we rode in the complimentary limo to the airport.

  My plane boards shortly, so I cut to the chase. I bend down on one knee in front of Molly, and hold out a plastic ring I removed from a champagne bottle at the stadium.

  With wide but not very surprised eyes, Molly looks at the ring and then back at me.

  “I…I…” she stutters.

  Her hand trembles as she offers it to me.

  “Molly, I believe in second chances, third chances, and maybe even fourth ones. Plus, I’m just too stubborn to take no for an answer. So, again, will you marry me?”

  Several passersby have picked up on the proposal. A small crowd gathers around us, waiting for her answer. It seems no matter how many times I ask for her hand, we are destined to have onlookers.

  An elderly couple embraces while they look on, an overweight balding man wearing headphones and some sort of Ghost Hunter T-shirt films us with his phone, and just to my right, I notice an Asian pastor, pushing seventy, watching while cleaning his coat with a hair roller. Glancing around the crowd one more time, I verify that that lady with the pearl necklace from the restaurant isn’t here.

  From back down the hall, heading toward the gate, I hear Woodie rushing toward us. “Wait for me. I want to see this.”

  Molly grabs onto my jaw and redirects my attention toward her.

  “Y-yes. Yes. Yes, Yes, Yes.”

  In her excitement, Molly hops up and down and in response, the gathered crowd of strangers begins clapping for us. Molly pulls me up for a kiss. My right arm wraps around my son and I feel his arms wrap around my leg in an approving hug.

  The cheering continues as I give a tip of my nonexistent baseball cap. The overweight man listening to his headphones, I realize, sports a Toledo Torpedoes cap. His squinted eyes regard me with a curious expression as if he recognizes me, or at least thinks he does. Woodie steps within the circle of gathered people to shake my hand.

  As we embrace, he announces his thoughts loud enough so everyone can hear, “Folks, I can’t tell you how happy I am for these three friends of mine. Take a good look at Ryan Kelly, his new fiancée, and his son, Moe. Take a good look, because right now I’m shaking hands with the luckiest man alive.”

  As he finishes his statement, the crowd applauds again, though Molly punches him playfully on the shoulder, and says, “His name is Michael.”

  Woodie embraces her as I shake hands with a few of the strangers caught up in the moment. Molly and I have arranged to reunite in a week after I have a chance to get my bearings at my new job. After that I’ll be returning to California to decide what the next step entails for us.

  Stooping down, I give my son a bear hug and a kiss on each of his cheeks. As we say goodbye, Molly and I can’t help but kiss a little longer than appropriate in most public settings, but I don’t want to let her go ever again.

  Caressing her cheeks with my thumbs, I say, “I’ll call you when I land.”

  She nods but doesn’t speak.

  I squeeze her hand one final time and turn to leave when she pulls me back toward her.

  “Ryan, you have to promise me—”

  “Anything, anything at all. What is it, hon?”

  She takes a breath and my stomach turns in nervous tension.

  “Promise me you’ll address the closer role as soon as possible, please. The Indians need the best man they can get in that bullpen. Build from the back forward and make all of us proud.”

  I cross my heart, and head through security.

  As Woodie and I reach our gate, a man and a woman hurrying toward the boarding attendant bump me off balance. I have just enough time to recognize a police badge of some sort shining golden from under the woman’s jacket before they disappear into the crowd.

  Without looking back to apologize, the speeding duo head away as I look to Woodie with disbelief.

  Woodie pats my shoulder. “Hey man, don’t expect to get any respect until you win a few games.”

  We both laugh as an announcement booms from the loud speaker informing us to prepare to board. Woodie’s cell phone rings. He steps out of line to answer the call.

  Even though it has been a long and winding road, I agree with Woodie. I am, in fact, the luckiest man on the planet.

  Woodie returns with a smirk. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, old friend.”

  Confused, I raise an eyebrow.

  “Sorry, I’m going to have to get a different flight. That was Tony Drizzle calling me to confirm the rumors he heard just minutes ago.”

  “What rumors?”

  “Seems the Tigers have picked themselves a new manager as well, so it looks like I’m headed to Michigan instead.”

  My best friend and fiercest competitor shakes my hand. Something sharp jabs into my skin. It appears I am now the current owner of a vintage Indians golden glove pendant.

  I adorn my old good luck charm with pride. “See you on the field.”

  He turns toward his new life as I embark on mine, but before Woodie takes two steps away, he says. “Good luck, Ryan.”

  I nod. “Same to you, old buddy.”

  “No, I don’t think you get it. Good luck landing before I arrive in Michigan. There’s an awful freak storm, blowing over the Rockies, delaying flights headed east. I think I’ll just take a short trip south and then continue east from there. I figure I’ll win this race easier than any of our others.”

  With a wink, he turns and scampers back down the deck toward the nearest ticket booth. Once again, Woodie and I are going head to head.

  Stuck in line, I push forward, inch by inch, toward my plane. I think about Woodie and I push. I think about baseball and I push. This time, when I calculate the numbers of inches that will soon separate me from Molly and Moe, I know that no distance can ever keep us apart again.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my family, friends, and co-workers who endured years of small talk about this book, to the bands I listened to while writing, to Dave Bresnahan a class act who gave a stranger enough time to get the story right, to Joan Wilder for your tales of inspiration, and to Limitless Publishing for the opportunity to join your team.

  For helping me compete: Todd and Scott Wodzinski, Mike Hoban, Adam Probert, Craig/Kim/Courtney/Skyder, Al Harness, John Anderson, Eric Saule, William Weaver, Chuck Mosley

  For additional editing/writing direction: Therese “Tark” Arkenburg, Les Roberts, Jacob Owen Prytherch, and Darryl Cook, Jr.

  To my Parents: You’re right, I’m lucky that I’m cute, and I’m blessed you stuck with me.

  To Owen and Mara: You
make fighting for each inch worth it

  About the Author

  Douglas Esper’s other publishing credits include works published by ScoutMedia, Frontier Tales, AITE Publishing, DomainCleveland.com, Popdose.com, and FaithNoMoreBlog.com. Douglas has self-published two picture books for kids featuring the artwork of Jeffrey Fernengel.

  He is currently ghostwriting an autobiography book with rock vocalist Chuck Mosley, editing his suspense/thriller novel, and polishing off the first book in a YA adventure series.

  When not writing, Douglas, a native of Cleveland, Ohio can be found recording music with his band, Indoria, and seeking out adventures with his family.

  Find out more about his writing, music, and charity work at douglasesper.com or @douglasesper

  For more info about the author, his other stories, and his music, check out www.douglasesper.com and follow him on Twitter @douglasesper