by Caryl McAdoo
What was she thinking? Doing? She couldn’t be falling for the guy. When she wasn’t with him, she thought of nothing else but him. Was that love? Who knew? She sure didn’t. Only thing for certain at that moment was that she needed coffee; large, copious amounts of the hot, black, steaming java. And she needed it bad.
Swinging her legs over the tall four poster, she slipped into her flippies then flopped down the hall and stairs to the kitchen. The caffeine jolt raced from her mouth straight to her left eyeball, the one that refused to focus until that first sip. She took another, then a third, then went to the back looking for him. She found him out on the patio, the same place as yesterday, must be his morning ritual.
He looked up, smiled, then closed the book he’d been reading. “Morning, Sunshine.”
“What do you have there?”
He held the leather bound book up. “My Bible.”
“Oh.” She stepped closer then held out her cup. “Want this one? I can get me another.”
“No, I’m coffee-d out for now, but I usually have a another cup or two after breakfast. Sit a spell with me.”
She sat, sipped her coffee, and enjoyed the fruits of his labors. What a wonderful little paradise he’d carved out of the Trinity River bottom’s wildness. “I know I keep sayin’ it, but this...” Her hand swept a three-sixty. “It’s just so awesome, Gij. We’re in the middle of the Dallas Fort Worth Metroplex, yet it feels like being in the country. The peace here is almost tangible.”
“Thank you. And speaking of the country, want to go up to Dimple tomorrow?”
She shook her head and grinned. “You’re sure pressing the issue, aren’t you? Wanting to meet my Daddy?”
“Why not? Tomorrow’s Saturday. You don’t have to go into the office, do you?”
“I don’t know. Hadn’t really thought about it.” She hid behind her coffee cup. No doubt her daddy would love meeting him.
Since she hadn’t talked to him, he had no idea about her being the only one getting on-air interviews, although he’d definitely be aware of G.H. Johnson. He never missed a Ranger game. But getting his local news out of Texarkana or Shreveport, the Ark-La-Tex they called it, he never saw the DFW channels’ newscasts, only what she recorded for him. She would be able to take the CD she’d been making for him with all the Johnson interviews.
“Isn’t that an awful lot of driving for a one day trip? Daddy doesn’t have an extra bedroom. And wouldn’t you need to be back for the game?”
“Wouldn’t drive, we’d fly. I already checked, Clarksville has an airport.”
“Are you telling me you have an airplane?”
“Yes, I do. Saved me a lot of time and cash getting back and forth to Vegas.”
“Let me see your pilot’s license.”
“It’s in my room.”
“Okay, tell me where. I’ll go get it.”
“Nope, not allowed. Rule number three, no unchaperoned females in my room.”
Oh man, this guy and his stupid room. She should find where he kept his ax and chop the door down the first time he wasn’t home. Once and for all, she’d find out what his big deal secrets were in there. “And why is that? What are you hiding in there?”
“How about this?” He stood and stuck his hand out. “Need more coffee?”
“Sure, I’ll take a warm-up, but croutons! Hurry back because I want to hear this proposition of yours.”
“Patience, fair weather girl.” He chuckled on his way into the house and sauntered out, squinting almost immediately. “What do you say to when we get back from California, if you haven’t borrowed a gun and shot me dead, we’ll get your dad to come and stay with us a while. Then you’ll have a chaperone and can come into my room.”
“Number one, my daddy would have a conniption fit if he ever found out I had moved into your place. Number two, I thought this was only a temporary arrangement until we went to California. And number three, duh, what about April being my chaperone?”
A heavy sigh escaped. He totally exasperated her sometimes. She wanted to jump on him and pinch the truth out of him. Sit on his chest and whip his face with her hair. Hey, she could Indian leg wrestle him for the right to enter his private quarters. What was so special about the trip to the west coast anyway? Or the one to her hometown, either?
“Okay, I’ll call Daddy and see if he’s even home. He has a new lady friend up in Oklahoma. But if he’s there, I’ll tell him we’re coming up to see him tomorrow and get him to pick us up in Clarksville.” She took a sip of hot brew. “If we go, Gij, you have to promise me not to breathe a word about us living together. I can guarantee you, he’d jump to all the wrong conclusions. I keep all your secrets.”
“Fine.” He nodded. “But I refuse to outright lie to him if he asks.”
Her face grew warm. Of course the fanatic Christian couldn’t lie for her. Broccoli! How dare she ask him such a thing after keeping his home so perfectly private. “No problem.” Hypocrite! She thought it but didn’t say it aloud. “Daddy’s not the curious, prying type anyway.”
“Good.”
“But I’ll run interference should it become necessary to keep you from being a liar. He’ll be so glad I’m bringing a man home to meet him. Forget you being the Rangers new phenom rookie pitcher. He’s a huge baseball fan.”
“Even better. Now let’s go over your list of questions.”
CHAPTER
Eight
The interview went about as Gij expected, took longer than planned, but his weather girl stuck to the script, and only the few folks who had been to his place would recognize its exact location.
After a nice lunch with Samantha Danielle and her crew, he headed to the ballpark and she rode back to the station with April. He did some jogging, made the rounds on the exercise machines, then made himself go to the weight room and pump iron.
He hated it, always had and always would. He liked it way better when the conventional wisdom said ballplayers shouldn’t bulk up. It surprised him a bit that the exercise room was empty. From the torture chamber he strolled out to the batting cage. He found a nice bat.
Man, he loved the feel of wood. Metal wasn’t alive, had no heart, no sweet spot, not that he’d managed to do any good with live pitching. He punched up fifty pitches in the low eighties.
The first twenty-five, he worked on bunting. Not too bad, half would have advanced the runner, but he popped up three that would have resulted in a double play. The others went foul.
He paused the machine, marked off the five and a quarter inches from the plate he’d always used, then cranked it up to ninety and waited. The first three pitches, he whiffed, but after those, started making contact. Still, he swung late.
The ball looked like an aspirin or worse. The last pitch was his best, a weak grounder right up the middle. He wanted another fifty, but decided to let it go. Jeff wasn’t going to let him hit away with anyone on base.
Well, hopefully, he wouldn’t embarrass himself in Los Angeles.
But like the man said, as long as he threw BBs, what did it matter? They were paying him to pitch, not hit, except he loved doing both. He closed his eyes and one more time watched that last homer sail over the centerfield fence and disappear into night.
Not a ballpark anywhere it wouldn’t have cleared is what Pappaw told him. If only… He shook off that thought. No way to change what had gone before in his life, just like he couldn’t change Samantha Danielle’s past.
Back in the locker room, about half the guys he expected sat around. He strolled toward Carlos. Maybe the catcher knew where everyone had run off to.
“Johnson, got a minute?”
Gij made a hard right and headed toward the manager’s office. “Sure, Skip, always.” He closed the door then took the offered seat. The man didn’t look too happy, but what did he know. He wasn’t that well acquainted yet with his boss.
“How’s the arm?” He didn’t sound upset.
“Good, it’s fine.”
“You throw any yet today?
”
“No, sir. Figured I’d get my bullpen in during the game.”
“You only threw ninety-two pitches on Friday. Think you could give me an inning or two tonight?”
“Sure, more if you need. What’s up?”
“Food poisoning. I’m twelve men down. You take any BP today?”
“Yes, sir. Fifty balls.”
“Do any good?”
“I can bunt okay, but my swing is still awol.”
“I may have to forego the DH, so be ready to bat, too, if I need you.”
“Yes, sir. Whatever you need, sir, I’m your man.”
Sammi Dan smiled then bumped her shoulder against April’s. “That’s it, don’t you think? Is that a great piece, or what? It is, isn’t it? A really great interview?”
“Maybe. What do you think about adding some footage from Mexico? We have a lot we haven’t used.”
“Hey, that’s an idea. Worth a try, I guess. What time is it?”
The producer pulled out her phone. “Late, we best get going.”
“There you two are.” Joe stopped in the doorway. “You guys need to get to the ballpark; twelve Rangers are in the hospital with food poisoning. Banister might have to pitch Johnson tonight. Get something I can use at six.”
“You got it.” Sammi Dan hoped she wasn’t lying. “Wouldn’t they call someone up from Frisco or even the Air Hogs?”
“Good question. Go ask someone who knows.”
“Maybe I will.” She stood and pulled her purse strap onto her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go already.”
April headed toward Interstate 30 in silence. With Reunion Tower in the side view mirror, Sammi Dan glanced over. “Sorry I was short, girlfrind. I think he shouldn’t pitch tonight.”
“No prob, I understand.”
“He isn’t a Mormon.”
Her producer glanced over with a what-did-you-say-again expression. “O-kay. That’s good. And your point is.”
“No point, just FYI, you know. Forget about it.”
“No, no. Tell me what he is, I mean, if he isn’t a Latter Day Saint.”
“Christian.” She nodded. “He’s a Christian.”
“Well now, that covers a lot of territory. What brand?”
“He said he’d tried a lot of different denominations, but besides a home group in Vegas, none of them felt right. He and his Pappaw got saved at the same tent meeting in Grand Prairie when he was only sixteen.”
“Aw, that’s no good, Sam. Sounds to me like he might be one of those Bible thumpin’, pew jumpin’ Holy Rollers.”
“I don’t think so. Isn’t the nice name for those folks Pentecostal, because he specifically said he didn’t identify with them.” She turned in her seat to her best camera gal friend. “April, do you know exactly what it means to get saved?”
The woman shot her a duh. “Of course I do. I was born in the Bible Belt and raised in a Southern Baptist Church. What do you think? I got baptized when I was only nine years old.”
Sammi Dan shrunk into her seat and stared out the window. What did all that matter anyway? He was the nicest guy she’d ever met, and he seemed crazy about her, but it just didn’t add up.
Him not trying her on for size was nothing but weird. It was how people got to know each other. Everyone did it these days. Well, except for those Dugger kids. She watched the episode where Jim Bob and Michelle’s oldest son got married.
They claimed he’d never even kissed her until the preacher said ‘you may kiss your bride’. In a way, it did seem so sweet. They probably both felt so clean, and that night must have been incredible for them both. Maybe there was a point, but…
What the hay? She’d sure never know what they knew, how they felt.
A person couldn’t go back and change the past. Her first time in the back of her boyfriend’s old SUV flashed past her mind’s eye and how dirty she felt afterwards washed over her. Couldn’t ever get back to pure and clean again after that. Would it make a difference to Gij?
Anyway, she knew plenty of young folks who did it, and they went to church every Sunday. “I was sprinkled when I was a baby. So am I? Saved I mean.”
“I don’t think so. You have to accept Jesus, you know. I don’t think a baby can. I mean all babies go to heaven, every one, because they’re innocent, but once you get older. . . I don’t know. You walk the aisle to the front of the church and tell the preacher you want to get baptized.”
Sammi Dan went to staring out the window again, and that’s when it hit her like a high hard one to her temple. Naw, that couldn’t be it. She pulled out her seat belt and turned completely sideways to face April.
“You think he’s like, you know, inexperienced?”
“Good grief, girl, you think that’s even possible? Isn’t he like thirty-three? But if he was, that could sure explain a lot.”
“It’d be logical, his mother…”
“What about her?”
“Okay, now let’s stop right here a minute. You signed an agreement not to reveal where my man lives, but if I tell you anything about him, you have to promise to keep your mouth shut. He’s very private.”
“Well, I haven’t said one word to anyone about anything regarding G. H. Think about it. How much do you know about me? I’m pretty private myself. Haven’t even tried to think of that pet name you call him. What was it again?”
Sammi Dan turned back straight. “No way, girlfriend. He told me flat out not to mention that to anyone. I think he’s superstitious. Anyway, so long as you promise. He didn’t tell me not to repeat what I know of his mother and it does explain stuff.”
“I promise. Now spill your guts.”
“His grandmother died young and his mother went wild—drinking and drugs—ended up pregnant with him and wanted to abort, but her daddy talked her out of it and promised to raise the baby himself.
“Remember, he told us his Pappaw named him. And yesterday he went on and on about how so much of his grandfather’s house, the one G. H. grew up in, had been incorporated in his new place?”
“Oh no! Hold on!” April turned the wheel hard and barely made the ballpark exit. “Whew, that was a close one.”
“Gravy! Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me. Just go on up and take the next exit.”
“Whatever. Anyway, is his mother still around? Does he talk much about her in the present vernacular?”
“A little, but he hasn’t seen her in a while, maybe like ten years.”
“Well, bless his heart, growing up without a mother. That’s pretty sad.”
“Yes, I know. We have that in common.”
“Yeah, but you might have to watch that, too.”
“Watch what?”
“Him hunting a mother instead of a girlfriend if you get my gist. You sure don’t want some sort of sick relationship.”
“Very interesting, Doctor Phillis, but I think your analysis is way off. I mean he hasn’t wanted me to do things for him. Actually, it’s more the other way around. He does all the cooking, barely lets me chop the salad.
“And he helps clean up, too. He doesn’t just open doors, he runs around the truck to get my door and offers his hand, pulls out chairs; he’s quite the gallant gentleman. Besides, if he wanted a mom, he could buy one.”
April rolled down her window and flashed her badge at the media lot guard. She parked, grabbed her camera then jumped out. “Come on, we’ve got to get to work.”
Sammi Dan finally caught up with Gij outside the locker room thirty minutes before the game and stuck a microphone in his face. “Hey, G. H., word is that you might be taking the mound for a couple of innings tonight.”
“There’s that possibility.”
“So, won’t that hurt your arm?”
“No, ma’am. This is my normal bullpen day. I told Jeff I could go three if he needs me.”
“Well, hopefully Holland can go the distance tonight.”
“That’d be great.”
“Yes it would, and you won’t have
to pitch until you get to Los Angeles.”
“My arm’s fine. It’ll be alright.”
“But still.” She turned toward the camera. “And there you have it straight from the horse’s mouth. Johnson says he’s fit as a fiddle, even if he did pitch just two nights ago. This is Samantha Davenport reporting live from Globe Life Park in Arlington. Back to you, Joe.”
For the first seven innings, Holland hung on to a two-run lead. Sammi Dan had mixed emotions about Gij pitching.
On one hand, if he did well, it would make for a great story, but on the other, if he hurt his arm, would she still be the fair-haired sports girl at KBTL?
After the second walk in the eighth, Gij and a lefty started warming up; she couldn’t see the other guys number. The catcher sauntered out to the mound and chatted with the pitcher only a minute before the home plate ump interrupted them. “Play ball!”
Holland bounced the rosin bag on the back of his left hand while Carlos made his way back then toed the rubber. The pitching coach, Maddox if she had it right, left the dugout and strolled toward the mound. “Time, Ump.”
After not too long the home plate umpire stepped toward the mound and pointed his mask at the group gathered around Holland. Out in the bullpen, Gij stopped throwing.
Banister left the dugout and strolled on the field. “Time!”
Halfway there, he held up his right arm and patted his forearm with his left hand. The universal send-me-in-the-right-handed-pitcher. He was calling for her guy. Sammi Dan held her breath. Was this really a good thing?
Each step, Gij’s heart beat a little faster, and his breath got a little harder to come by. “Oh, Mercy, Lord, put fire in this arm; strengthen me.”
The fans were on their feet cheering and chanting his name. Of their own, his feet began trotting, and ice water sprang from his gut and flowed through his veins. Peace and assurance settled over him.
The crowd’s murmuring roar quieted the nearer he got to the hump of dirt in the middle of the field. Jeff handed him the ball. “I need three outs, kid.”
“Yes, sir.”
The second base ump stepped up and pointed out the runners on first and second bases. “No outs, Johnson.” Then he backed away to his place.
