by Faith O'Shea
Rique popped open the trunk, thinking he’d throw in their duffels but all he could muster was a painful toss.
As he looked at the small space provided for a passenger, Mattie said, “Not much room.”
For the first time, Rique thought the same and winced as he contorted his bruised body behind the wheel.
“You have to sacrifice something to race like the wind.”
After inserting himself into the seat like a letter in an envelope, the third baseman replied, “You really don’t know what sacrifice is if you can say that.”
Rique gave him a quick glance before revving up the engine. For the first time in a long while, he felt the sting of privilege.
They drove up Route 93 in silence, Mattie taking the time to survey the landscape, until he asked, “Is it always this barren?”
“No. Only in the winter. Every season brings something new. It was the same in New York. You get used to it. Almost. You could have held out for a warmer climate.”
“The Greenliners were the first to offer me a deal. Keith was happy with it, although I’m not sure he…what do you call it? Shopped me around. With all fees I had to pay to get my release, I just wanted it done and signed.”
“What kind of fees?”
Mattie’s face hardened. Rique wasn’t sure he was going to answer him. In a voice devoid of emotion, he said simply, “Let’s call them travel fees.”
Rique glanced over, waiting for him to expand on that, but Mattie had withdrawn into himself. There was pain there, he could feel it. He needed to lighten the topic, so he asked, “How did you find Keith?”
“He was recommended to me by… someone I know.”
“He’s one of the best.”
Mattie’s shoulders seemed to lose their tension. “He’s been very helpful.”
“You do know some people here after all. His office is in Andover. I was supposed to meet with him on Friday, but he had to fly out and meet with a new client in the Midwest. We covered what we needed to by phone while I was driving in.”
Mattie was back to staring out of the window. He was rubbing his forehead with his fingers.
“I hope Alicia finds me a place to live where there are people. In the city. It will help me get around and I want commotion. After living in Camaguey… well people walk everywhere. I think I can do that there.”
Rique looked over and said with a short bark of a laugh, “I’m trying to avoid commotion. It gets me into trouble.” He had to admit, he wasn’t minding his self-imposed isolation. He’d never felt better, and now that he’d refocused his energies on baseball, he was all in.
Mattie asked, “What kind of trouble?”
Without thinking, he swiveled his head to look at his passenger and a neck muscle spasmed in protest. As he tried to work it out, he admitted, “As you know, I tended to party a little too much. Like I told someone, I’ve turned over a new leaf. Shit. I should call Fifi and tell her I’m bringing home a guest.”
“Who is this Fifi?”
“The Jacksons have gone for a little R & R before spring training. My sister hired her to house-sit and dog walk. She’s been staying at the house since before I got there.”
Mattie sounded incredulous. “Her name is Fifi?”
Not having her cell number, Rique thumbed the house’s landline and it began to ring.
“Her name is Fiona but—”
Just then her voice came over the blue tooth.
“Hope you’re not calling to see if I made dinner.”
“You’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t cook. I’m calling to tell you I’m bringing someone home with me.”
There was a pause and then a flippant response that he wasn’t expecting.
“I’m not leaving so you’ll have to bring her to your room and stay there.”
He blinked and could hardly believe that hurt as well.
“It’s one of my new teammates. I’ve actually known him for a few months, and we trained together today. He’s from Cuba and doesn’t know anyone here, so I thought we could hang out.”
“Oh. Do you want me to order in?”
Her voice had softened, and he thought it might have held an unspoken apology. That her nose had been out of joint with the thought he was bringing a female home made him feel warm and fuzzy for some reason. He couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from twitching into a smile.
“You might as well. I figure you’ve got all the delivery services on speed dial.”
“Not all yet, but I’m working on it. What does he like?”
“I don’t know. Say hello to Mateo Alvarez and then you can ask him.”
“Hello Mateo Alvarez. Are you as much of a carnivore as your new friend?”
Mattie mouthed the word carnivore with a question in his eyes.
He mouthed back meat eater.
“Yes. I like meat.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I can rustle up. You almost here?”
“We are. Just getting off the exit now.”
“It might take longer for the food to get here but I’m on it.”
“Thanks.”
“See you in a few.”
He ended the call, a grin on his face.
“You like this woman?”
Mattie must have read the smile wrong. He was glad to be eating soon. He was ravenous.
“Just met her on Monday. She’s…different.”
“Different how?”
There was a look of interest on Mattie’s face that didn’t sit well.
“I get the feeling she’s a science geek. One parent’s a geologist, the other a mathematician, so it would follow.”
“You haven’t asked?”
No, he hadn’t. There’d been no need to. He knew what she did for a living, although he still couldn’t understand why. She had to be smart if her DNA had anything to do with it. You couldn’t be dumb coming from that kind of genetic pool. And that scientific exposé on kissing had to come straight out of a geek textbook.
“Knowing where she comes from and what she does, I thought it would make her feel bad if I asked if her parents were disappointed in her.”
“What makes you think they’d be disappointed in her?” His expression grew wary. “And why in the world would you put it like that?”
“Because I’m disappointed. She has a brain. She should be using it.”
“There are people who don’t understand why I am a ballplayer. They say the same thing, consider what I do a game.”
“It takes intelligence to do what we do and do it well.”
“It does but it takes a certain kind of person to take care of dogs. Patience, kindness, the ability to amuse.”
He had to agree with that. She’d been the best entertainment he’d had…ever. She kept him on the edge. He never knew what she was going to do or say. And she constantly surprised him.
She played cards like a pro, knew her science facts, made angels in the snow as Hoover chased around her flapping arms. And she could kiss…
How would you know that? It didn’t resemble a kiss in any way. Too light, too innocent, too quick.
What they said about less being more had proven true.
As they pulled into the driveway, there was a blue Beetle Bug in front of the garage door. It suited her and he could see her during the summer, the top down and singing at the top of her lungs. He liked the picture that had formed. He wondered why she’d left it out. She’d gotten dibs on the third stall which was empty. Was she planning on going out later?
Mateo snapped him out of his thoughts.
“Nice house. And they are everywhere. This is nothing like where I come from.”
“There’s a range. Big mansions, five-room Capes but a good percentage of the residents live well.”
“I can see that.”
Enrique hobbled out of the car, deciding to leave his bag where it was. He didn’t want to walk the extra steps to the trunk. He could grab it when he got back from returning Mateo to his hotel. If his
body hadn’t atrophied by then.
The side door was unlocked and when he entered the mudroom, he called out, “We’re here.”
Mattie was taking it in, and when Fifi materialized, he smiled generously.
“Thank you for having me here.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The new guy walked over to shake Fiona’s hand, with an ease Rique lacked. Rique’s steps were awkward, more a limp than a gait. She met Mateo’s eyes and said, “I wish I could say mi casa, is your casa but it isn’t mine.” She turned her gaze over to Rique and added, “Tough day?”
With his hand on the counter, he stretched out his leg and rubbed his thigh muscles.
“You could say that.”
Nodding her head in Mattie’s direction, she asked, “Did he get to watch?”
She had that smirk on her face that he’d come to expect.
“No. We were tortured in the same way. He’s obviously super-human…or bionic.”
“Always puts out a hundred percent, so his anatomy is accustomed to hard work?”
He sniveled. “I’ll get there.”
“I’m not sure you’ll get to the table.”
“Once the food gets here, I’ll find a way.”
“You still have about twenty minutes. Get your wallet ready. I’m not putting out for the spread.”
“I didn’t expect you to.” She heard a couple of his joints creak as he pulled out his wallet and handed it over.
Feeling somewhat sympathetic, and almost pleased that he’d worked himself hard, she asked, “Either of you want a beer?”
When she looked over to see if Mateo wanted what she was offering, he was wearing a lopsided smile as if he was enjoying their banter. He was dark and handsome and had the extra benefit of the tall piece, but he didn’t cause the kind of tremors his cohort did.
Rique answered for both. “Sounds good, but only if you’re willing to walk over and get it for us.”
And it wasn’t the new guy’s smooth, accented voice that rumbled through her like thunder, it was that one.
The only way she was going to keep the longing at bay was to find the humor in the situation. His situation, not hers. On her way to the refrigerator to get the Heinekens, she said, “Why don’t you find a chair to collapse in before you fall flat on your face.”
He grunted in response. “Come on, Mattie, we’ll eat at the table.”
She shook her head. She’d have to set the table and serve, not something she was going to let him forget once their guest was gone.
There is no our. The guest is his. You’re not part of a couple entertaining one of Rique’s teammates.
With plates and utensils in her hands, she approached the two men, and as she placed the dishes on the table, she asked, “Which part of Cuba are you from? Havana?”
“A small town in Camaguey province. It’s on the other side of the island.”
“You’re a long way from home.”
There were a million questions she wanted to ask about his country, but she capped her curiosity, hoping things would come out during conversation.
“I am.”
“When did you get here?”
“I flew in yesterday.”
She felt her eyebrows quirk.
“You can do that? Just fly out?”
He explained how he’d left a few months ahead of the new standing, which she assumed had helped him navigate the rocky terrain of defection, and where he’d stayed waiting for his visa to be approved.
“You already knew each other then.”
“A bit. Rique was rarely there.”
He gave her a sheepish look, which lead her to believe he was too busy with his extra-curricula activities to be at home much.
“You fit the parameters set by the agreement?”
“I am twenty-six and have been playing for seven years, but I came too soon for that to matter. I had to go another route.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she said, “That’s a long time to play professionally. You must have been a baby when you started.”
“In my country the most treasured gift at Christmas is a ball and bat. My first was made out of a tree limb.”
“Like a branch?”
“There is little money there, and few things one can buy if they had it to spend.”
“You don’t get paid to play?”
“Very little. We are expected to play for the glory of the homeland.”
He sounded bitter rather than proud or patriotic.
“No multi-million-dollar contracts??”
“Not even multi-thousand-dollar ones.”
Rique sounded as amazed as she was. “Cuban baseball is world renowned and you guys are local heroes. That sucks.”
“It does. That is one of the reasons so many leave.” He took another sip of beer before asking, “How long have you played?”
“I started when I was twelve.”
Fifi looked down her nose at him. “Really? And you look like that after a practice?”
The doorbell cut off any chance for Rique to say something in his defense, and she left him with his mouth open as she went to answer the door, taking his wallet with her. What she found when she flipped it open surprised her. It wasn’t the stash of money stuffed into the billfold, it was the picture of his entire family he’d shown her, tucked into a side compartment. It signified something…significant but she didn’t dwell on it. She couldn’t afford to buff his more positive traits.
After handing over the cash, adding a sizeable tip, she took possession of the bags and carried them over to where the men were sitting.
Rique was sniffing the air but made no move to rip the staples off and dig in.
“What did you get?”
She began to unpack the containers. Mattie helped with the second bag.
“A bunch of stuff. The menu was in Spanish. At least I think it was, so I had to improvise. They had a brief description beneath the specialty, so I ordered anything that suggested it was steak, oxtail, pork chops, or chicken.”
Mattie’s voice registered surprise. “This is mofongo. It’s one of my favorite foods.”
“I had no idea what it was, but it is made with plantains, so I figured why not.”
Rique’s eyes danced with pleasure. “Where did you find this place?”
“It’s in Lawrence, where there’s a large majority of Hispanics, Latinos, etc. And you being in one of those groups, I can never remember what qualifies as what, I thought it would suit.”
There was amusement in his eyes. “I don’t speak Spanish so I’m neither. My ancestors come from Portugal.”
She made a face back at him. “That’s right. Sorry. Didn’t mean any offense.”
“None taken. This might make Mattie feel more at home.”
His teammate had already begun to eat, having taken a bit from every container. “Will they have food like this in Boston?”
“I’m sure they will. Is that where you want to live?”
“Yes. I believe I will assimilate faster. It is more diverse, I would think.”
Rique seemed to be enjoying the fare and said to Fiona, without looking up, “You find the best foods.”
Her chest began to puff in pride.
“I’m a pro at speed dial, remember.”
“I am beginning to think it’s a skill to be proud of.”
The men were eating with gusto. If they’d worked as hard as it looked from Rique’s stilted movements, they’d earned their gluttony.
But she was curious.
“What position will you be playing, Mateo?”
He wiped his mouth with the napkin she’d supplied and said, “Third base.”
“That’s right. Who played it last year?”
Rique was the one who answered. “No one person. They tried several over the course of the season. I think third base was their number one priority.”
“Who else have they bought…traded…acquired?”
She vaguely remembered her Uncle Jim
telling her the team was looking for a few good men.
“I told you about Sebastian Layden.”
“Yes, he’s been raised on your farm.”
He sent a smile in her direction before adding, “They brought in a free agent, Rafe Verducci, a catcher who they call Verdi because he’s a genius behind the plate, and a new closer, Milo Buzzley. He was dropped by the Brewers late last year.”
“How does Verdi represent genius behind the plate?”
“He can compose a perfect game.”
Okay, she got that part, Verdi, composer, Italian, but compare him to a catcher?
“I thought it was the pitcher who did that.”
With what looked like strained patience, Enrique explained, “Catchers are probably the most important members of the defense. They see every aspect of the field, are involved with almost every play and they call the game. It’s their job to bring all parts into one whole. They also have to know how to handle the pitchers, know where their strengths and their weaknesses are.”
Mateo added, “And they have to have an arm and accurate throw to decrease the odds of someone stealing. There are a couple of catchers I wouldn’t dare try to beat.”
“What do they steal?”
“Second base.”
She shook her head. “Why would they do that?”
“The chances of scoring are better from second than first. All someone would have to do is hit a single to left to get the guy on second home. Runs are important. They win games.”
She rolled her eyes. “That much I know.”
“We really do need to get you to a game.”
“I have a feeling I’d be more confused when I left than when I arrived.”
“I have a feeling you’re right. It takes years to understand the nuances.”
“I’d rather be walking a dog, anyway.”
“Why?”
Rique sound almost angry, as if it was beneath her.
“Walks are good for you, and I like being outside, engaged in a mindless activity.”
“You like mindless?”
She felt her cheeks heat up.
“At times. It helps quiet the chaos.”
“And what chaotic thoughts do you have?”
She blew off some steam in his direction.
“Where’s my next meal, my next job going to come from, where am I going to find the money to support myself, pay my rent?”
