by Caryl McAdoo
The bat barely clipped the ball. It flew into the backstop screen. The crowd groaned, but Gij wasn’t here to please those folks. He could just image the millions back in Texas breathing easier.
But for how long? A full count with loaded bases still haunted him. That part of the game was not his favorite, but how much fun would it be without the jams? And the batter surely suffered the same.
“Hey, Johnson! You can throw harder than that! Quit messing around and get this guy out. Throw him the dark one!”
What?
He glanced to the camera well. Samantha Danielle stood there, her face split in to two with a giant grin.
He tried his best not to look, but he kept fiddling with the rosin bag and sneaking peeks at her. Sammi Dan loved it. She leaned out over the rail and cupped her hands around her mouth.
“Come on, hot shot! Strike him out! One more! That’s all you need! Show him who’s the real rookie.”
He stared into the batter’s hardened face. Gij twisted back then flung one right down the middle of the plate. The slugger swung and missed by a mile.
Yes! Blue punched him out. She glanced at the jumbo screen over center field. The radar flashed an eighty-five. He’d thrown a straight change. She grinned. Gutsy call, but then she loved a gutsy guy.
By the time April got Gij over for the last mid-game interview, Odor had struck out, one away.
“So, Johnson, how you feeling pitching on one day’s rest?”
“I’m good, sure proud you managed to make it to the game.”
She threw him a smirk. “How do you figure this appearance is going to affect your next start?”
He opened his mouth, but the crack of the bat pulled him around. Martin raced to first. The ball hooked toward the right field stands. The Cuban rounded first just as the ball landed on the foul line, then careened into the corner.
Martin obviously didn’t even think about slowing down at second.
The right fielder retrieved the ball and hit his cut-off man who pegged it to third. Martin slid in. Sammi Dan held her breath. Blue flung his arms out. “Safe!” She exhaled then filled her lungs.
The crowd’s collective moan couldn’t cover her jubilation. The Ranger’s dugout whooped and hollered as Elvis strolled to the plate.
“Sorry. What were you saying?”
She focused. “You pitching tonight, is that going to mess up your next start?”
“No, ma’am, not at all. Why would it?”
She stifled the duh. “Okay, let me rephrase. How many innings can you go tonight before it affects your next start?”
Movement pulled him away again. Martin broke from third, Elvis squared to bunt. Oh, no. The suicide squeeze. Lemons! Bad move, Jeff! Lemons! The ball plunked the bat and rolled toward the mound.
The pitcher charged, she held her breath. The Cuban hit the dirt with his hand stretched out its full length just as the ball came back. She’d never noticed his arms being so long.
A cloud of dust rose. He slid across, collided with the Mariner’s catcher. Did he make it? Her focus went to the home plate ump. His face went all eschew. He threw his arms out to the side like a little boy playing airplane. “Safe!”
He made it! Martin made it! She loved the Cuban’s speed. The Rangers had themselves a run. Okay then! It’s lemonade! Pass the sugar.
Johnson smiled. “I can go one more for sure.”
Like in his sixty-six previous innings, he didn’t give up a run. He did make it a little more interesting by walking a guy.
Mental note, talk to him about nibbling at the corners. She loved how gentlemanly he acted in victory. Then a strange thought hit her. Was he a big snot-nosed crybaby when he lost?
She’d never seen him lose, but surely he wasn’t. Wouldn’t be his style.
Adulations, interviews, then more adulation. Finally, she got him alone in the grand Hyatt lobby.
He declined his teammates’ invites as they headed to the dining room and faced her. “Room service okay with you?”
“Sure.” She slipped her hand into his and pulled him toward the bank of elevators. “So does this count as one of the seven shutouts?”
He pushed the up button. “I suppose.”
“Are you really going to pitch day after tomorrow?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Jeff told me tonight that he might push me back.”
“I’d certainly like that a whole lot better.”
“If we stay tied with Oakland, he wants me to pitch the one game playoff.” He touched the key card to the lock and opened the door to his room. “I’m hungry, let’s order.”
While waiting on room service, she tuned in the MLB channel then curled up beside him, perfectly content. Of course, all Mitch and the gang talked about was her and Gij’s relationship. Like it was any of their business—or the world’s. With all their wrong assumptions. Good grief, there’d been a pretty exciting game, and they had to focus on her love life?
If they only knew the truth of the separation….
On another hand, it tickled her that the fairy tale love story of the lowly weather girl and baseball’s newest star hero seemed as popular a topic as his implausible, improbable power pitching. She especially enjoyed the shot of her hollering at him, egging him on for that third strike.
Then, as though some truth existed to the allegations that Johnson used PEDs, their focus switched.
Once they went to repeating their idiotic suppositions, she lost interest and shifted gears.
She’d figured out the whole reunion scenario, and so far, so good. She’d definitely surprised him. And now her plans included some rules that needed breaking, but the food came and forced her to wait until she put the dirty trays out in the hall.
Guess that was a little like her doing the dishes.
“So I ran into Rex this morning.”
He leaned back in his chair and hit the TV’s mute button. “Okay, and Rex would be…?”
She took a seat on the bed across from him. “My high school boyfriend.” She’d rehearsed this plenty, but now all of a sudden, it proved harder than she ever planned to get out.
A hint of pain edged his mouth. She hated hurting him, but she needed to get this said. “He asked me out, wanted to take me to a new hunting lodge, made a point of telling me about their little cabins, even offered to take me hog hunting later.”
“Okay, so… You turned him down?”
“Yes, of course. That’s why I’m here.”
He shook his head. “Guess I’m not making the connection.”
“Rex was the guy…” She looked away. It might be easier to tell him what she needed to say if she wasn’t looking right at him, into the windows of his soul. “Anyway, one night…” She glanced up. Tears filled his eyes. “Okay, look. That night, I stopped telling him no, but today… Well, I did.”
He nodded.
“Back in high school, right before the junior-senior prom, he dumped me for Missy. Last year, she divorced him. If it had happened any time between then and before you, I probably would’ve jumped at the chance to get back with him.”
“I see.”
“But not anymore. Not now, not ever.” She sniffed, and wiped her own cheeks. “I thought I loved the idiot, thought he might be my Fred. It sort of haunted me. But I don’t love him, and now I know I never did. He’s nowhere near the man you are.”
She stood. “And it’s you I love. With all my heart.” The tears spilled over and rolled down her cheeks like a summer downpour. “And I missed...” Her voice cracked. “I missed you so bad, Gij. And I never want to be apart from you again, not ever.” She held out her arms. “Do you still love me?”
He jumped to his feet and was somehow instantly in front of her, in her arms, with his own wrapping her in a tight embrace. “Of course I love you. I’ll always love you, through eternity.”
She snuggled against him and hugged him hard, tried to press herself into him. She wanted to be one
with him so bad that every part of her ached. Her fingertips tingled moving over his back and shoulder muscles, and the quivers surged through her like a tsunami crashing over her heart.
She loved this man more than life. “Please, don’t ever let me go.”
Gij squeezed her as hard as he dared. The desire to smother her with kisses assaulted his resolve, but he had to stay the course. He’d come too far and had to wait. But he’d missed her so and she smelled so good.
Her sobs subsided. He longed to kiss her tears away. For too long, he teetered on the brink of surrender. Oh, Lord, help me.
She leaned back and wiped her cheeks, but most of her tears had soaked into his shirt. “Can I stay with you tonight? I didn’t get a room.”
“Where’s your stuff?”
Her off shoulder lifted a hair. “Maybe…” She grimaced. “I kinda, sorta forgot my bags at the stadium. I had to make like a hundred calls to get my badge back, and…”
“Okay.” He touched the tip of her nose. “Let see if I can fix things.”
He touched his cell to life. Thank you, Lord. “Yes, this is G.H. Johnson. Do you have Miss Davenport’s luggage?”
He loved the effect his name had on people. For the longest, it only carried sway in Vegas, but now… Well, best not dwell on it. Pride came before a fall.
“Good, next problem, is the room adjoining mine available?”
“Excellent.”
He turned off the little electronic marvel and faced her. “Problem solved. Your luggage is on the way up. Seems the Mariners’ front office is on the ball, and had them sent straight over to the Elliott Grand Hyatt.” He strolled to a door on the side wall, twisted the handle, and shoved. “And, they can unlock this adjoining suite entrance from the front desk.”
Sammi Dan closed her eyes. This was not working out like she’d thought. “But Gij, this is not what… I’m sure now.”
“Sweetheart, from the second night in Mexico, I’ve been painfully aware of what you’ve had in mind. And the hard part is that it’s exactly the same thing I want, so bad it hurts, but we can’t. Not yet.”
“Why? We love each other.” She walked toward him. “We’re going to get married.” She reached out, touched his cheek, and searched his eyes. “Why do we have to wait? Who’s going to know? And even if someone did, they’d never say anything.”
“God knows everything, sweetest heart. We’re not married, and you’re not…”
“What? Don’t do that. I’m not what?”
“Saved.”
“But you saved me. There’s no telling where my life was going to wind up before you came along.” She stared at him. He didn’t say a word.
Why did he have to be so fanatical about his religion? Then again, maybe he thought that she was the one being stubborn to a fault, and perhaps, she was.
So, okay. It wasn’t like she hated God or anything if he or she really was out there. What could one little white lie between them hurt?
“Gij, I give. What do I have to do?”
“Believe.”
CHAPTER
thirty-one
Sammi Dan backed away. It couldn’t be something simple like taking a class or reading a book. “Okay, what exactly do I have to believe?”
“That Jesus is the Son of God and that he died for our sins.”
She ducked her head and stared at the carpet. Who picked that ugly color? What were they thinking? A hundred retorts raced to her tongue, but she bit them back. Could she lie about this?
It seemed so easy a minute ago, but now… She looked up. Then like there was a God watching over her, a light knock reverberated.
He threw a nod to the door. “Your luggage.”
She spun then pivoted back. “Money. Do you have a little cash? I’m tipped out.”
He grabbed his clip, retrieved her bag, and started toward the open adjoining room door. “How did you manage this through the airport? It must weigh a hundred pounds.”
She headed after him grinning. “Why do you think I have no tip money? You’ve taught me well.” She followed him through and took it from him with a wide yawn. “I’m tired, Gij, it’s been a long day. What say we call it a night, unless…” She raised her eyebrows.
“Here, give me that.” He grabbed the suitcase back, lifted it onto the desktop beside the television, then gave up his best little boy grin and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m glad you’re back. Good night, Sweetheart.” He left, closing the door behind him.
Big turkey. Did he lock it? It could have been a good night alright.
But it surely took a turn for the worse—if anything could be sadder than him leaving her alone. She’d so hoped to fall asleep in his arms. Instead, she tossed, twisted, and rolled from side to side, but couldn’t get comfortable.
And her brain would not shut up. Two of the little fridge bottles of tequila only slurred her words in the internal debate with herself.
What was she going to do?
He could read her like a tourist sitting in on the big game. If she tried to bluff her way through, the big oaf would surely know immediately. Believe. She didn’t see why religion had to butt into her relationship with the man she loved anyway.
Why did he insist so adamantly that she had to believe? Why her faith or lack thereof meant so much to him definitely remained a mystery.
A throbbing pain pried open her right eye. The left one flatly refused. A thin line of soft, pale light edged both sides of the heavy lined drapes. Had morning come after all? She must have slept at last. Oh, but her head.
Not ready to get up, she yawned and stretched. Didn’t it rain every day in Seattle? She loved sleeping through storms.
Ow, her head. Why had she drank that third bottle? Or the first for that matter. She hated hangovers, hated the mornings after, except… She sat up in the bed, but the throbbing drove her back into the pile of pillows.
Actually, it wasn’t a morning after. She had nothing to regret. No hairy-legged man who looked so good the night before snored next to her.
And that was precisely the only thing she had to regret; at least so long as the hairy ape happened to be the best pitcher in baseball.
The love of her life slept right next door. Well, probably he was already up, maybe with coffee on, reading his Bible. Or either face down praying.
Gij was so faithful to the God he believed in. She had to give him that.
Forcing herself to the bathroom, she threw on enough clothes to be decent, put on her best happy face, then rapped lightly on the divider door hoping above hope that he’d forgotten all about her being a heathen pagan.
Her realistic outlook on the Bible stories – how could he contend that it wasn’t the only logical approach?
“Come in.”
She opened the door. He had the heavy curtains pulled back and only the light sheer covered the windows and allowed the dismal sky view. “Is it morning?”
He closed his Bible and smiled. “Yes, ma’am. You look…” He grimaced. “Hung over, a beautiful hung over though. You get any sleep?”
“I guess so, but only because I woke up. You got any coffee?”
“They’ve switched to those more sanitary one cup systems.” He stood. “You sit, I’ll brew you a cup.”
She threw him a nod, sat as she was told, and stretched again with her hands high into the air. “I hate mornings, especially gray ones.”
Like a true gentleman, Gij didn’t try to draw her into a stupid debate of the virtues of rising early or any of Poor Richard’s other nonsense. He did grin a lot, like he had a secret he couldn’t wait to tell or maybe because poor her was reaping what she’d sowed. She’d have to admit that her throbbing head was nobody’s fault but her own.
After the second cup of coffee and a visit from room service, she neared eighty percent.
By lunch, things were looking up. He’d planned a trip to Seattle’s Art Museum to show her the Minimal Art and its Legacy exhibition, and she’d put on her yellow dress to try an
d brighten the gray day. In the rental, he maneuvered through the city as though it was his own neighborhood, taking the roads less traveled.
“How’d you know I liked museums?”
“Remember last year when you covered the impressionist exhibition at the Kimble?”
“Sure, were you there or something?”
“It seemed to me you genuinely enjoyed yourself. At least that’s what came across on screen.”
“You’re absolutely right, I did.”
Too soon, work called her name, except getting paid to talk about baseball wasn’t really anything like tossing pizza or waiting tables—two jobs she hoped she never had to hold down again.
The worst part of sports reporting was the separation from Gij. She found April in the media room studying the scouting report.
Bless her little producer heart.
“Hey, girlfriend. Whassup?”
“Sam, hey yourself. How about that piece O’Reilly did on you guys?”
“What? Bill O’Reilly?” She sighed. “You are talking Fox’s No Spin Zone?”
“Yes, ma’am. That be the very area.” She nodded grinning. “You didn’t see it?”
Sammi Dan dug out her phone and touched the black screen to life. She used to be so good about staying on top of things.
After what seemed an eternity in the new age of instant communication, The Factor played on her phone. She fast forwarded to the now familiar shot of her urging him to get the last out of that first inning he threw.
The cameras caught one of him sneaking a peek at her between pitches. The little screen faded to TV’s fastest growing news station’s number one personality. She enjoyed Bill, liked his Words of the Day and his banter with those who emailed or texted in.
With a grin and a sparkle in his eye, he went on. “Even the casual baseball fan has heard about George Herman Walter Johnson, the Texas Rangers’ unbelievable rookie; the phenom pitcher who’s breaking all kinds of records.
