by Faith O'Shea
Leo took up the pacing, and all Rique heard was a chant of “Shit, fuck,” as he did.
He exchanged glances with Seb and Mattie, the three standing stock still, not knowing what to do or what to say. The smiles had been wiped away and in their place were twitches and blinks.
Was it as serious as Todd thought? Would it impact the upcoming season? What would happen if Farina couldn’t come back? He was a crusty authoritarian, an approach that was going out of style in baseball management. He barked rather than talked, and he didn’t like his role being usurped by the front office. There’d been talk about replacing him this season, and Reid had been surprised that he’d returned. With only one year left on his contract, he probably wouldn’t next year no matter how well they did this season. Organizations were going with younger men, not the grizzled lifers who’d been in command of every aspect of the game and the team.
A few more members of the staff had congregated outside the office. One leaned against the wall. A couple were talking in low voices. There was a kinetic energy that hummed beneath the hush. It didn’t take long for them to know the outcome.
When the stretcher was wheeled out of the room, a sheet was covering the manager.
Leo stopped cold, his face as white as a ghost.
“Holy shit.” He looked up at the male EMT and asked in a hoarse whisper, “Is he dead?”
The covered body gave the answer, but Rique didn’t think anyone standing there thought it was possible and they needed it to be spelled out for them.
“He was already gone when we got here.”
They all watched speechless as the gurney was led to the exit.
Leo was scrubbing his face, a look of pure panic covering it. He looked up to see his three players standing mute, shuffling their feet.
“I’ve got to make some calls. You guys get showered. Everyone else back to work. There’s nothing we can do for him now.”
Rique thought there might have been tears collecting in Leo’s eyes, but he turned away so suddenly he couldn’t be sure.
The three players hadn’t moved, their eyes still darting at each other, still not believing what had just happened.
It was only when Leo had disappeared from view that the three Greenliners ambled toward the locker room.
It was Seb who asked, “What the hell will they do now? We’re so close to spring training. Bringing someone new in will shift the whole program off its axis.”
Mattie asked as he stripped off his sweaty tee shirt, “Will they promote Leo? One of the other coaches?”
Seb shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea.”
Rique retrieved his phone from his bag. “I’m calling Reid. See what he thinks.”
He wasn’t willing to text this kind of news, not that telling him voice to voice would be any easier. Reid liked Farina. He’d cut him some slack when Leeni was in the hospital, when Reid was burning both ends of the candle. They had a mutual admiration for each other, and he knew Reid would take this hard.
When his brother-in-law answered, Rique hesitated, not quite sure how to tell him the news.
“Did you call to practice your heavy breathing?”
It was such a Crackerjacks thing to say. He’d usually laugh, but not this time. He knew what he was about to tell him would cut his legs out from under him and he couldn’t find the words.
“No. Sorry. Are you sitting down? I think you should sit down. Is Izabella there?”
“I’m not sitting, and Izabella is in the other room. What the hell’s going on?” His voice had taken on an edge. “Is it my mother? Your father?”
He paused and, with a rushed breath, said, “It’s Farina. He had a heart attack. He’s dead, Reid.”
Now it was Reid’s turn to breathe heavily into the phone.
“What?”
It was more croak than question.
“We found the ambulance here when we were finished with drills for the day. The EMTs are transferring the body to the morgue and Leo’s making the calls now to let management know. What do you think they’ll do?”
He could almost see the pitcher, his fingers massaging his forehead, his mind trying to make sense out of the insensible.
“I can’t think that far ahead right now. Let me wrap my brain around this first. Okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just Seb, Mattie, and I are a bit nervous right now. We thought we knew what we were getting into. Now? Our futures don’t look as secure.”
“This is so like you. This fucking disaster will affect everyone, not just you. I gotta go. I’ll call you back later.” There was a semblance of gratitude in his voice when he added, “Thanks for letting me know.”
Before he could say anything else, Reid had ended the call.
He stared at the cell before putting it back in his bag.
“He’s in shock. He said he’d call me back later.”
He should have been more sensitive to Reid’s grief. His brother-in-law had a working relationship with the manager, had formed a bond of sorts and had flourished under his guidance. Rique hadn’t yet, and even though it was a gut-wrenching experience, he hadn’t lost a mentor or a friend. To call Reid asking about the precarious future had been selfish but he was glad he’d made the call. At least the pitcher would have a heads-up and wouldn’t be caught blindsided.
There was a heaviness that followed the three players into the shower room. No one spoke, the only sound that of water cascading against the stalls. Rique lathered himself raw, trying to wash away the feeling that he might find himself traded again. He had to keep in mind it was Farina who hadn’t wanted to take the risk on him. The front office had ignored his sage advice so maybe…
Was he safe? He hoped so but he’d have to redouble his efforts, practice hard, show the new guy he had what it took to win.
He was the last one out, the others already dressed in street clothes. As he wiped himself off, Seb said, “I think this calls for a stiff drink.”
He was on that page, even though he’d promised Leo he’d behave himself. These were extenuating circumstances, though, and he had a feeling Leo would be drinking heavily tonight himself. His job was at risk now, too. Managers always brought in their own staff and Leo might have held his last training session.
Mattie added, “Maybe two.”
Just as Rique was tucking his shirt in, Leo walked into the room. He looked like he’d aged ten years.
“Will is contacting Farina’s wife, letting her know, and is meeting her at the hospital. The management team will be meeting this weekend to discuss replacing him. And no, I have no idea who’s in the mix of possibilities. Jordan will be issuing a statement to the media as soon as he lets everyone in the organization know what’s happened. You’ve got the weekend. I’ll be in touch about Monday. I have a feeling everything will be suspended until after the funeral.”
Now that Rique had gotten into the swing and sweat of things, he didn’t want any down time.
“Can we use the facility on our own?”
“Your job should be safe, dos Santos. It’s mine I have to worry about.”
Enrique chewed on the inside of his mouth, not knowing what to say to that. “You’ve set some benchmarks for me. I want to continue to meet them.”
“Glad to hear it. You can be one of the best if you give it your all. Any manager they hire will expect you to do that.”
“As they should.”
“You can’t depend on me to get you there. Discipline is a solo act.”
Fifi had said something similar. Now it was up to him to clarify just what that meant. He had to set specific goals for himself, not off the field, like finding a wife, but on it. He knew where he wanted to go. Now he had to get to it, despite pain, adversity, and boredom. He’d let these things control him before. Now he had to reject them, grow into the role he expected himself to fill.
Leo looked like he was about to fall over. He stuffed his shaky hands into his pockets and said,
“Why don’t you gu
ys get out of here. Go have a drink. You had a front-row seat and I’m sure it had to have thrown you as much as it did me.”
Leo shot Rique a look. “Just don’t get crazy,” and then he walked away, his shoulders slumped, his gait slow.
Seb sighed and issued a “Shit, fuck,” of his own. He grabbed his bag and said, “You heard the man. Let’s grab a drink. That drained the crap out of me.”
It had blindsided every one of them. Rique felt disconnected from reality, as if it had all been a bad dream. Watching that gurney roll out had been hard, and he didn’t even know the man all that well. What had it been like for people who knew him, worked with him, laughed with him?
Shit, fuck.
“Come on, let’s get out of here. We’ll hit the place the team goes after a game. It’s not far from here.”
It was a cozy pub that served the standard fare of hamburgers, fries, and beer on tap. It was a new hangout, not far from Harborside. Their old haunt was back in the Fens but the one thing that hadn’t changed over the last year: the fans were a constant.
Seb followed him over in his own car, and they parked in the back, the lot not yet filled with night-time revelers. After entering, they sat at three vacant stools at the bar and ordered, the TV low in the background.
“Hey, guys. You Greenie newbies or wannabes?”
The stocky bartender was polishing the slate-black counter when he asked.
“Both, I guess. How could you tell?”
“Been serving ball players for over a year now. You all look the same.”
Seb looked at both Rique and Mattie, his eyebrow arched.
“We do?”
The guy laughed and admitted, “Not looks per se, but the way you carry yourselves.” He pointed the cloth at them, one at a time. “Third base, left field, shortstop. I’m a fan. I shut the TV off at night only after catching up on the latest Greenie news. Welcome.”
Seb introduced them by pointing like the bartender had, “Mattie, Seb, Rique.”
“Knew that, too.”
Rique thought, There’s something you don’t know yet.
But they didn’t enlighten him. When he went to tend to other customers, the three sat quietly, draining their glasses and as they waited for a refill, Seb said, “Have any of you been that close to death before? It was a first for me.”
Mattie concurred. “I’m glad I wasn’t the one who found the body. You can smell it when death is in the room.”
Rique was numb. Change was coming and he needed to be ready for it. He took a long swallow of the dark amber ale, licked his lips, then said, “I still can’t believe it. It’s going to seem strange not to see his face every morning.”
And he’d only been there a week. What would it be like for the men who really knew him, Todd, Reid, Leo?
“I wonder when it’s going to hit the news.”
They’d gotten the group text on their way over.
“Shouldn’t take too long. They’ll want to get ahead of it. Now that everyone in the organization knows, it’s sure to leak.”
No sooner had Rique said that than there was a bulletin, the words breaking news flashing across the screen.
A well-known sports reporter, tied to the local station, was standing outside Harborside Field. He was set up in front of the darkened steel and glass structure, a mic in his hand, a grave expression on his face. The water behind him seemed to glisten in the background, chips of ice floating like broken corrugated wafers. Docked boats, lining the lip, could be seen farther down, and sailboats without sails were bobbing in a discontented sea. It reminded Rique of a black-and-white photograph, the exterior barren, the snow-covered streets and the naked trees the right kind of backdrop for the story to come.
Seb asked the bartender, “Can you turn this up?”
The stocky man picked up the remote and did as requested.
The reporter’s voice now carried across the room.
“Late this afternoon, EMTs were called to Harborside Field, but by the time they arrived, Jethro Farina, manager for the Boston Greenliners, had succumbed to a heart attack. Farina was a fixture in the clubhouse for the last eight years and helped the team advance to the most recent World Series against one of their rivals, local adversaries from the other side of the city. We will be awaiting word as to who will take over the team with his death, but we will bring you reports as they come to us. This is Nick Murphy, Channel Five News.”
Quiet had descended on the patrons in the bar as the news filtered through. Then there was a rush of commentary about the manager, the team, the future. Most of the talk had to do with the replacement. Names they were all familiar with were being bandied about, and any one of them could be the successor. It was anyone’s guess at this point.
The bartender gave them an intense stare.
“You knew?”
Seb nodded. “Upper management told everyone before releasing it, so yeah. That’s why we’re here. Drinking.” He lifted his empty glass. “Another round, please.”
Before they had time to blink, their glasses were replaced with new ones.
“These are on the house.”
Rique said, “Thanks,” and then asked, “Did you know him?”
“Not personally. He never came in, but I’ve heard lots of stories from the players who did. I think they’ll miss the old goat. Any inside information about who’ll be replacing him?”
Seb took a large swallow before placing his glass back on the countertop.
“Yours would be as good as ours.”
He looked at his two companions and asked, “Another?”
Rique was ready to agree and took hold of himself. Don’t get crazy ambled through his brain.
“I’m out.” He looked at Mattie and asked, “You want to come back with me tonight? Being alone will suck.”
“If you don’t mind, that would be good.”
Rique then asked Seb, “How about you? Will you be alone?”
“Only if I choose to be. I’m just not sure it would be fair to go out with someone in this kind of mood. I wouldn’t be good company.”
“Why don’t you come as well. We can commiserate at Reid’s.”
“Can we eat? I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m famished.”
Rique had been ignoring his growling stomach, not wanting to admit he was hungry under the circumstances. Now he had an excuse to find food.
“I’ll call Fifi, have her order something. It’ll be there by the time we get back.”
Mateo shook his head. “Her name is Fiona and she has very good taste in food.”
Seb was licking his lips. “A home-cooked meal would be great. There’s something comforting about that when you’ve faced death.”
Rique snorted. “If that’s what you want, you’d better find someone else to provide it. Fifi doesn’t cook. She orders in exceptionally well, though.”
Seb threw some cash on the bar, covering all of them, before rising and shrugging into his coat.
“The company is really what I need. Where are we headed? You said Reid’s?”
“Yeah, I’m staying at his house until I get my own place. It’s about twenty-five miles north. You okay to drive?”
“Two beers don’t make a dent.”
“Then let’s go.”
When he made the second call in two nights for some food delivery, Fifi was uncommonly civil.
“I heard the news. I’m sorry about your loss.”
“It’s a team loss. They’re bad enough on the field but off is much worse.”
He told her about arriving at the field just in time for him to be pronounced dead. She commiserated with him and ended the call saying, “I’ll take care of dinner.”
“Great. There’ll be three of us. Mattie and Seb were with me when it happened. No one wants to be alone.”
“You’re paying.”
He couldn’t help but smile. It was the first since practice.
“I am.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
&nb
sp; Fiona made the call to yet another delivery place. This time she went with her mood, knowing it would definitely satisfy the meat lover in Rique. He’d added another man to the mix, and she’d understood why. She could only imagine what it had been like to see that stretcher pass by, knowing the man lying beneath it had held their futures in their hands. With his death came uncertainty.
She’d already heard the news about Farina from the TV before he called although she didn’t know that he’d witnessed the ordeal at the time. She’d been waiting to hear the weather report and was playing tug-of-war with Hoover when the story broke. She remembered her uncle’s opinion of the man, that he was one of the dinosaurs, with a bite as ferocious as his roar. Would the front office now have the option of bringing a friendlier, kinder man into the role? Having only been introduced to the game this morning, she had no idea who that might be. She wasn’t sure anyone knew. Reid certainly didn’t.
Izabella had called soon after the announcement, letting her know that they’d be cutting their vacation short and mentioning her husband was as much in the dark as everyone else concerning a replacement. They were coming back for the wake and funeral, which they assumed would take place sometime that coming week. Once they returned, her services would no longer be needed. She’d be back at her own small condo soon. She scanned the open space, knowing she’d miss all the room to roam. Suddenly her arm itched, from a prickly sensation that felt like a worm crawling under her skin. Though she hated to admit it, she’d also miss the man she’d been house bound with.
He was spoiled and pampered, used to having his own way, but there was also an underlying sweetness about him that made the flaws less annoying. He loved his family, took care of his friends, even the new ones, and was doing his best to change his attitude. At least out here in their shared space. When she got back from her uncle’s, restless and kind of bored, she’d peeked into his room, where his true colors shone. It was a mess. He’d left both lights on, and clothes were scattered everywhere, the sweaty ones heaped in a pile as if he’d just dumped them out of his bag and left them. There was an empty water bottle on his nightstand, an empty bag of chips on the floor by the bed, which was unmade, a wet towel heaped in a ball on top. By the looks of the rumpled sheets, he was a restless sleeper, and when she began to imagine him tossing and turning, she’d scampered out. She couldn’t afford such dangerous thoughts.
