by Caryl McAdoo
And what a colorful boost to the Big League he is. After a ten-year absence from the game, the ex-professional poker player has almost pitched perfect, then as if that wasn’t enough, he’s in love with the ex-weather girl at KBTL, his local home station.
So much so that he insisted in his incentive-laced contract that he only be interviewed by Miss Davenport.” Bill mugged at the camera. “For his last start, Samantha Danielle was AWOL, but apparently she and Johnson have kissed and made up.”
The man faded out, and her face in front of her dad’s house filled the little screen. She clicked it off—didn’t need to relive that interview—and faced Meadows. “Okay, what do we have today?”
“You didn’t watch it all.”
“I saw enough.”
“So have you and Gij kissed and made up?”
“Sorta.”
April leaned in and lowered her voice. “Did you stay with him last night?”
“No, he made me sleep in the adjoining room.”
“Good.”
“No it isn’t! That’s bad. The man’s driving me crazy.”
“You were crazy for ever leaving him.”
“Maybe, so how’s it going with you and what’s his name?”
“John Cord, thanks for remembering.”
“Hey, don’t get an attitude. I’ve had things on my mind. So?”
“It’s good with us… No, excellent. He’s a great guy, a Christian, and not one time has he put his hands anywhere they don’t belong.”
Sammi Dan nodded. Seemed there was a lot of that going around. Why did all the good guys have to be too-goody-two-shoes types?
The afternoon rushed by, she got totally into prepping for that night’s game, then once it came, everything went as planned, except Oakland also won.
The time after the win progressed as so many had in her recent past. Gij took her to eat at a great Mexican place, played the perfect gentleman, then way too soon opened the adjoining door to his suite, and gave her a sorry grin.
“I’m pitching tomorrow.”
“What happened to Jeff pushing you back?”
“Oakland won. And well…” He shrugged. “I told him I can go on two days’ rest if he needs me.”
“George Herman Walter, you’re going to ruin your arm. It’s liable to fall off.”
“Not until I get another shutout and five more no-hitters.”
She wanted to protest, tell him no, but the nasty two-letter word couldn’t get past her clinched teeth. So far what his Pappaw said had come to pass without a hitch--like he could tell the future, like one of those Bible prophet guys.
“Tell me, Johnson, what happens if you don’t?”
“It’s going to happen.” He smiled at her. “Just like you happened.”
“How can you believe that? I mean really.”
“How can you not?” He shrugged. “The best, cutest, funniest, and most awesome weather girl in all the world showed up and fell in love with me. Now that’s the bigger miracle. Playing a silly kids’ game doesn’t even compare.”
She shook her head, blew him a kiss, then with her fingers still in front of her face, transformed the kiss’ flat platform into a finger gun and pulled its trigger, shooting him.
“You, my love, are going to get it sooooo good once you finally invite me into your bed.”
“I love you, Samantha Danielle.”
“I love you, too. Now go to sleep. We need another W tomorrow.” She hated closing the door on him, but that’s what she did. Halfway to her bed, the fridge called her name.
For two steps, she ignored the sirens’ song, but the lure proved too strong. She couldn’t have what she really wanted, so drowning her sorrows sounded exactly like the perfect thing to do.
Besides, the Bible approved. Isn’t that what Gij said? Something about give a poor woman some wine. Okay, fine. Instead of the Mexican white lightning, she’d happily settle on an interesting looking Napa Valley Chardonnay.
Twisting off the little cap, she took a long swig—more than half the little tiny bottle. Tasty choice. She probably ought to get a couple more though. They were so small.
All night, religion hadn’t entered the conversation, but it still had hung heavy on her heart. What was she going to do? No matter what a good idea she though lying her way through this mess, trying to convince him, that just didn’t seem feasible.
Not with Gij’s fine-tuned poker radar always on.
Why hadn’t she packed her Bible? Maybe something in there could help her out, like that wine scripture. Some legal way to…stretch the truth. Where was it anyway? Daddy’s? No, she didn’t think she took it there.
Oh, yeah, she’d left it on her bedside table in her lonely room back home.
Halfway through her second teeny wine, she muted the MLB channel and fished out the Gideon Bible in the hotel drawer. She put the book in her lap then closed her eyes. Why did Christians do that? Bow their heads and close their eyes. Did it say to in the book? She didn’t ever remember anything about it.
Maybe Gij could tell her.
Oh well, until she could ask him, she decided to proceed as though the Man Upstairs was already in the room. Isn’t that what omnipotent meant? And wasn’t that what He was supposed to be? She saw no reason to close her eyes.
If He showed, she definitely wanted to see.
“Okay, God, can you hear me?”
Nothing.
She waited a minute, maybe even two, then held the Bible up. “Is this really Your Word? Did you tell all those old guys to write this book? Tell them what to say? Inspire them?”
Nothing. Only the still quietness. No booming voice crashed down from above.
The TV changed, pulling her eyes to the wide screen. The anchor desk turned into a full blown frozen picture of her in front of her Daddy’s house. “Okay now.” She looked at the ceiling. “Are You trying to tell me You did that?”
She unmuted it. “…said he wrote the book on it.”
Then like the Lord himself held the clicker, the TV went black. Goose flesh popped up and tickled her arms and legs, then the tingling moved inside and spread to her heart. “Really. Are you serious?”
She glanced at the half-empty miniature chardonnay bottle. Was it God or the alcohol talking?
She waited, but the television didn’t come back on with some preacher shouting for her to repent. Her insides settled, and she lingered there, quiet and still.
Nothing, no more spookiness of any kind, no angels came.
She looked at the Bible, still in the air, then dropped iton to the bed next to her.
It fell open. She peered in, more than a little apprehensive. The top of the page had one word. Judges. What was that all about? She hadn’t gotten that far when she started reading it. She read a few verses. They were about a man named Gideon. Hey, was he the original Bible giveaway guy? She read more, then backed up and read the previous chapters about the other judges that led up to him. Then went back even further and read the book of Joshua.
She leaned back. “Is that what you want, Lord? For me to put out a fleece?”
CHAPTER
thirty-two
As though he waited on the other side, he opened the adjoining door on Sammi Dan’s second rap. “Morning, Sweetheart. You don’t look hung over today.”
She pushed him aside. “Don’t be getting smart with me. I need coffee.”
“Here.” He extended a steaming cardboard cup toward her. “I just brewed this. You take it. I’ll fix me another.”
“Thank you.” She accepted his offering with a little smile. “Thank you berry mush.” Studying Gij, she sipped the black nectar and let its caffeine do its thang. “So you think I’m just cute? And funny?”
“Oh.” He turned from the one-cup coffee brewer. “Cute isn’t the right word. Not good enough. What you are is the most desirable woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”
She yawned. “Ooooo, that’s a whole lot better. So how are you feeling this morning? Sleep good? Hey, did you
know Vegas banned betting on you?”
“No, where’d you hear that?”
“They were talking about it last night.”
“Who’s they?”
“The crew on Intentional Talk.” Sitting her cup down, she stretched and scratched her head. She blew out all her air then took a deep cleansing breath. “I did some talking to God last night.” She gave him the Readers’ Digest version of what happened, minus the goose flesh, she left out that part. “So anyway, I was wondering, what do you think a good fleece would be?”
He jerked back like she’d thrown a hard one right at his nose. “Well. Praying is a good thing. It’s excellent. And now a fleece… Ummm.” He sighed. “I don’t know, Babe. Ask God to surprise you? How does that sound?”
“I like surprises.” She pointed at him. “But you can’t do anything, understand? It’s got to be someone else. If you do it, it won’t count at all. Although I do love it when you buy me stuff.”
He grinned. “And I love giving you gifts.”
“And speaking of buying gifts, is it okay if I get Daddy a big screen TV and Corrie Cate a dishwasher for their wedding presents?”
“Of course, Sweetie. You don’t have to ask me that. Buy whatever you want. Just put it on that card.”
All day, she eagerly anticipated a surprise from God, but nothing happened out of the ordinary. Then it came time to go to work, so she did her best to put it out of her mind.
But it kept cropping up, turning over in the recesses, whispering she was just crazy, that nothing special would occur.
The closer it got to game time, the more her disappointment grew. Finally, she had to get ready for her pre-game interview. She pushed her internal TV-happy-face button, gave her canned intro, then went straight to firing questions at Gij. Smooth, the man was smooth.
If he wanted, he could have a bright future in broadcasting.
She concluded with, “Since Vander Meer threw back-to-back no-hitters, there’s been a bunch of no-nos, but none in succession. You think you can match his record?”
He smiled and shrugged. “Ask me that question again in say…nine innings.”
For three innings, he pitched perfect. In the bottom of the fourth, the same with the first two batters, six strikes. Then he walked Mike Trout on four pitches like he was afraid to give the man anything close to a hit.
Albert Pujols sauntered to the plate. She cupped one hand around her mouth. “Strike him out, Johnson! Put three in the dirt. He can’t lay off.”
Gij twisted back. Trout broke from first. Big Al squared. What? Pujols was bunting? She willed her man to step off the mound and throw to second for the out, but he let one loose toward the plate instead.
The batter reached out, tapped it, and sent it right back to the mound.
Gij fielded it clean, spun, and flung it to first. The ball sailed a foot over Fielder’s glove. Trout didn’t even slow down headed to third. The ball raced toward the right field corner. What had he done? What had he done?
She couldn’t believe it. No.
Choo retrieved the overthrow and fired it to second. Odor pulled it down and stuck out his glove. He caught Pujols with his outstretched arm a foot in front of the base.
“You’re out!” Blue’s thumb fanned the air.
Sammi Dan looked home. Trout had already passed the plate.
The ump repeatedly and emphatically pointed to home. Jeff charged from the dugout and engaged the enemy, but to no avail. The Angel’s centerfielder had scored. The number one didn’t come off. She sank to her knees.
What a cruel surprise.
He’d given up a run.
Gij stared at the giant screen in centerfield. Sure enough, Trout reached home a split second before Odor tagged out Pujols. An arm went around his shoulder.
“We’ll get it back.”
Gij nodded then followed Martin to the dugout, grabbed his jacket, and flopped down on the bench. Like he had the plague, players on both sides scooted away from him; he glanced at the scoreboard in center field.
One run one error, his, but still no hits. No hits, it was still alive, didn’t matter how many unearned runs he gave up, they still didn’t have a hit. Okay, it was still on, Pappaw had said seven and seven, didn’t say a word about the records for consecutive shutout innings.
Seventy was a nice number. He looked to the camera well. Samantha Danielle sat on the concrete floor, disbelief plastered across her face.
He strolled to the dugout’s end. “Hey, Sweetie.”
She looked up, tears in her eyes. “What?”
He nodded her over.
She acted like she didn’t want to, but pushed herself up, grabbed the rail between, and leaned close. “What?”
“Want a mid-game?”
“Why?”
“I want to make a prediction.”
“What kind of prediction?”
“Get April, and I’ll tell you.”
Sammi Dan stared at him for half a dozen of her heartbeats, then shrugged, why not, might as well ride this horse for a while longer.
But he’d given up a run, and if the old man was wrong about that then he didn’t know the future, didn’t know nothing, just an old guy drunk on morphine telling his grandson what he hoped would happen.
“April, get your gear, Johnson wants to give us a midgame.”
Meadows put it in high gear and had it on in maybe record time. Surely someone somewhere in the stadium kept such information; they recorded everything else.
“So what happened on that bunt? Seemed routine to me.”
He shrugged. “I messed up, but I’ll fix it.”
“That so? You know some rule that takes a run off the board?”
“No, an unearned run doesn’t spoil a no-hitter.”
His words hit her, coiled her back. She recovered, found words of her own. “You saying you’re going to no-hit the Angels tonight?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
The crowd’s collective groan pulled him to the action, Choo rounded third and scored unmolested, Elvis slowed then stopped at second, with a stand up-double. Gij chuckled then faced the camera. “Martin said they’d get that run back, looks like he knows what he’s talking about.”
“Any other predictions, you want to make?”
“No, but I was wondering have I told you lately that I love you?”
She grinned then realized Meadows had turned the camera on her. “Matter of fact you have, and I love you, too. How about we get back to baseball.”
“Okay, but I’d rather talk about you.”
A solid crack of the bat then a hearty round of cheers silenced her. Fielder had lined to second for the third out. She looked back; Gij was already retrieving his glove and shedding his jacket.
Well, it was out there.
He’d broke with tradition and told the baseball world he would do it. Them and everyone who watched Fox…and had CNN picked up any of her stuff? If he did finish the Halos off without a hit, everyone would know—Cheetos! What was Yancy charging for re-broadcast rights?
Contrary to dugout superstition, him speaking the unspeakable didn’t jinx him. Gij mowed them down, no runs, no hits, no more errors. He’d tied the record, two straight no-hitters!
Should have put a clause covering that in his contract. A million dollars for one night’s work—playing a silly kids game. She could hardly believe it. Once the celebration died down, she and Meadows got him again out on his field of dreams.
“Amazing, Gij. You are flat out amazing. How’d you know?”
He smiled. “The Lord healed my shoulder. But even more than that, praise His name, he put fire in my arm.”
An angle she hadn’t thought of before struck her. “So you didn’t have anything to do with it?”
“No, the Bible says to study and show yourself approved. I worked hard at learning the game, couldn’t tell you the number of hours Pappaw and I spent playing ball, but I blew out my shoulder and…well anyway…
No,
I’m the one on the mound, but the Lord gave me the talent in the first place. When I messed things up, afterwards I thought it was all over, but He healed me and gave me this second chance.”
“You…you have such faith.”
“I threw hard before, but not like I can now. And a slider in the nineties that bites like mine, then mix in a straight change that, praise God, comes from the same arm slot…” He shrugged. “I’d hate to have to bat against me.”
“So would I.” She faced the camera. “Well, there you have it, folks! No wonder Vegas has banned wagering on the man; looks to me he’s about the closest thing to a sure bet as there is. Especially, if he can cut out those bad throws to first.” She grinned at him then threw her canned sign-off at the world. She loved it, loved him.
“There you are.”
She dropped the mic and stared at the front row right next to the visitor’s dugout. She couldn’t believe her eyes, her two timing mother and Freddy Dear stood there grinning at her.
“Sweetie, how do we get down there, we want to hug your neck.”
Sammi Dan held her hand out then looked at Gij. “Did you do this?”
“Nope, not me.” He threw a nod skyward, then smiled at her. “How about introducing me to my future in-laws.”
She gathered herself then put on her happy face, the one her daddy wanted her to wear whenever the two-timer was around. She’s your mother, Sammi. He’d reminded her then patted her on the head and sent her into the enemy’s clutches.
Words, senseless meaningless words, back and forth chit chat, from the stadium to the fancy restaurant of course Johnson paid for, then on to the hotel lobby. Of course Fred had booked them in the same one.
Claimed to be a big Rangers’ fan. Good thing Sammi Dan hadn’t known that. She would have switched to football. Go Cowboys.
Finally, like there really, actually was a God in heaven, the two-timer bid her goodnight. But of course, not before Gij made a lunch date for the next day! She wanted to slap some sense into him.
Sammi Dan waited until he was all the way into his room. A part of her wanted to let his luncheon invitation slide, but he needed to know once and for all, when it came to her cheating mother, that she herself would be the one—the only one—to make plans with the woman.
