The Closer

by Alan Mindell

  "Oh?" she repeated, still looking surprised. "What's her name?"

  "Carly."

  "Carly Murdoch?" she asked, raising her eyelids, as though possibly recognizing the name.

  "Yes," he answered after pausing briefly, recalling he'd renamed her Landers late last night.

  "Describe her."

  "Tall. Slim. Maybe fifteen or sixteen."

  "Pretty?"

  "Very."

  "This may sound strange," she said. "But I worked with a Carly in Texas. She used a different last name. Said her father was a famous ballplayer. I'm not sure I believed her—these kids say anything. Called him Mr. Ten Million."

  "Murdoch's salary..."

  "This girl was pregnant..."

  "I wouldn't know about that," he replied.

  "Of course not.... But it sure sounds like it could be her."

  "Wouldn't be hard to find out," he said. "I told Murdoch I'd meet him at the hospital tomorrow. You could come too."

  She frowned. As if he'd said something objectionable.

  "What time?" she asked.

  "About one."

  "Okay," she said softly. "I'll meet you there."

  He gave her directions to the hospital, which she wrote into a little tan notebook. When she stopped writing, he tried to stifle a yawn.

  "Guess I'd better be going," he said. "Unless your couch is available for the night."

  "No," she quickly countered. "The kids might not know what to think...in the morning."

  "That the only reason?"

  "No," she answered, not as quickly.

  "Want to talk about it now?"

  "No, not now. Soon."

  "Promise?"

  "I promise," she said, getting up to walk him to the door after he tried to stifle another yawn.

  Consistent with the theme of the last few days, Terry was having an active morning. Besides running a couple of errands and calling Murdoch to get an update on Carly (no change) and to make sure it was okay for him, Terry, to bring Lauren to the hospital that afternoon (some resistance, but ultimately relenting), he was now signing autographs at an indoor shopping mall a few miles south of Oakland. It was a charity event, whereby the mall association donated ten dollars per autograph to a cluster of local charities.

  Despite the impingement on his time, Terry was quite thrilled to be there. Especially when many of the mall patrons addressed him as Mr. Closer, or a similar epithet. The occasion reminded him of the times he'd played mall Santa Claus at Christmas-time during his minor league days (even though he was far from being portly).

  He was also thrilled by the amount of fan mail he'd received lately via the Oakland team public relations department. True, it was time-consuming, but he tried to answer each letter personally. And was further delighted when some of the correspondents answered his letter with another of their own.

  By far the highlight of the morning was the arrival of a busload of students from a nearby school for handicapped children. Terry took extra time with them, carefully spelling out their first and last names as a salutation for his autograph.

  Entering Carly's hospital room with Lauren, Terry was puzzled that Murdoch, there already, was again in disguise. He was wearing the same one he wore that night in Boston when Terry and Rick tailed him. Brown pullover knit cap above a long dark wig, making him look more like a strung-out musician than an apprehensive father visiting his daughter.

  "How is she?" Terry asked him after introducing Lauren.

  "Same," he said despondently.

  Terry nodded. She certainly looked the same as early yesterday, after he'd completed the admission process. Pale, gaunt, lifeless. He glanced at Lauren. Her expression conveyed concern. It also inferred, from the look in her eyes, that she knew her.

  They stood there a few minutes before Murdoch, seeming far more focused than early yesterday, motioned them outside the room, into the corridor. Once there, Terry briefly explained to Lauren Murdoch's purpose for disguise.

  "Who are you?" Terry then asked him a little awkwardly.

  "Starving artist," Murdoch muttered, looking a little sheepish.

  "No... I mean... I hope you didn't tell anyone around here you're her father."

  "No. Her uncle."

  "But I'm her uncle," Terry disputed.

  "Nothing for the two of you to quarrel over," Lauren interjected.

  Terry and Murdoch looked at her questioningly.

  "You can both be her uncle," she said, beginning to grin. "A person can have more than one."

  Despite Carly's circumstances, Terry and Murdoch each laughed. No doubt primarily because they were embarrassed by their own ignorance. Lauren laughed too. Then she mentioned her children, whom she'd left in the hospital lobby, where she and Terry had met twenty minutes ago. After saying good bye to Murdoch, they began walking back there.

  "You know her," Terry said.

  "Yes. She's the girl we spoke of."

  "Will she recover?"

  "Yes, I think so.... The first several hours are always the most crucial."

  "You know a lot about this stuff."

  "I'm afraid so," she said. "Most of the kids I worked with were on drugs. Especially the runaways."

  "You said she was pregnant."

  "She was."

  "What happened?"

  "She had the baby. Gave it up for adoption. Then, ran away again, pretty much according to pattern."

  "I guess that's where Murdoch and I came in," he remarked. "When we found her in Hollywood."

  She didn't answer, undoubtedly because they had reached the lobby. The three children spotted them and headed their way. Little Tammy immediately wanted to know if they could all go to a puppet show or a movie or a restaurant. Lauren told her she was sure Terry had a game later, and couldn't.

  "Mommy," Tammy said eagerly. "Can we go see Terry's game later?"

  "No, sweetie. Let's save it for another day. We've got a long drive ahead."

  "Thanks for coming," Terry told Lauren.

  "I'll stay in touch with the hospital."

  He nodded. Then he walked with them to their car and watched them drive off.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Terry was startled when the bullpen phone rang. Myong Lee Kwan, who'd accompanied him in the trade more than two months ago, had pitched masterfully all afternoon, surrendering just two hits. Oakland was batting in the bottom of the eighth, leading San Francisco 1-0 in an interleague game.

  "Get warm," one of the bullpen catchers instructed Terry after hanging up the phone.

  "You sure?"

  "What the man said," the catcher replied, obviously referring to Rick in the dugout.

  Terry shrugged, then got up and began throwing. It made no sense. Kwan's pitch count was low, under a hundred. And the young right hander—whom Terry recently learned was a U.S. citizen by birth, his father coming to this country from Taiwan, his mother from Mainland China—had a shutout, something Rick liked giving his starters every opportunity to complete. Consequently, when minutes later Kwan returned to the mound to begin the ninth, it was only logical. Terry sat down, still wondering why he'd been asked to get up in the first place. But then, after Kwan tossed a couple of warm-ups, Rick emerged from the dugout and motioned to Terry.

  "Changed my mind," Rick said once Terry trotted to the mound and Kwan left for the dugout.

  "Didn't expect this," Terry replied, rubbing up the baseball Rick had just handed him.

  "Why? You're the closer."

  "He had a shutout."

  "You're the closer," Rick repeated before leaving for the dugout.

  Terry started his warm-ups. He was seeking his twentieth consecutive save. One of his teammates, probably Collie Quinn, had mentioned he thought he read where twenty-five was a record for a rookie at the outset of his career in the majors. But Terry had paid little attention, likely because of having difficulty reconciling the term "rookie" with age thirty-three.

  The San Francisco leadoff hitter, a lefty, drill
ed Terry's first pitch up the alley in right center, for a double. The next batter sacrifice bunted back to Terry, who tossed to second baseman Quinn, covering first. One out, tying run advancing to third.

  The number three man in the San Francisco lineup, the dangerous Lathan, strode toward the right hand batters' box. Terry could feel himself perspiring. The afternoon was perhaps the warmest he'd encountered here so far. Of course reminding him of Texas. And of course how terribly he'd performed there, before Rick straightened him out.

  The infielders edged in, hoping to prevent the runner scoring on a grounder. With two bases open, Terry knew the strategy was to pitch very carefully to Lathan. He tried to throw "the diver" low and away. It caught too much of the plate, however. Lathan swung, ripping a liner over shortstop Oates's head. Terry slumped almost to his knees, sure he'd given up the tying run, ruined Kwan's shutout and blown the save.

  Evidently, Murdoch wasn't so sure. He rushed in from left field as the ball carried toward him in the warm air. Diving headlong, left arm and glove fully extended in front of his big body, he caught the ball a split second before both he and it fell to the green turf.

  The runner at third committed a major blunder. Apparently certain the ball would land in front of Murdoch, he ran toward home plate instead of immediately tagging up. By the time the runner recognized his mistake, Murdoch scrambled to his feet. He fired a perfect strike to third baseman O'Rourke, who stepped on the bag well before the runner.

  It was a double play, the game was over, Oakland had won, the shutout was preserved and Terry had his twentieth straight save. But just barely—on all five counts.

  "Never thanked you," Murdoch greeted Terry in the corridor outside Carly's hospital room the next afternoon.

  "For what?"

  "For saving my ass again...getting Carly admitted without implicating me."

  "And I never thanked you," Terry retorted. "For saving my ass again...with that great catch."

  "How 'bout the throw?" Murdoch grinned.

  "The throw too..."

  Murdoch laughed. The truth was Terry couldn't ever recall him looking this happy. Then he realized something else. This was one of the few times he could remember seeing Murdoch dressed nicely in public, wearing normal street clothes, with no disguise.

  "Don't care if they recognize you..." Terry remarked.

  "Getting real tired...putting on those stupid things."

  "What about the media?"

  "Folks 'round here gonna protect me," he replied softly, edging toward Terry, so that the small cluster of people which passed by them in the corridor at that moment couldn't hear him.

  "Oh?" Terry said, a little puzzled.

  "Made a nice donation to the hospital fund. And when Carly recovers, gonna donate lots more."

  "Oh?" Terry repeated, not certain this news pleased him.

  "Anyway," Murdoch stated. "She's registered in your name."

  "Does the hospital know you're her father?"

  "We didn't get into that."

  "But they know I lied," Terry responded, definitely less pleased now.

  "Lied.... Don't know I like that word. Covered someone's ass sounds better."

  "Speaking of Carly..." Terry said abruptly. "How is she?"

  "Come see for yourself."

  Murdoch led him into her room. Walking toward her as she slept, Terry observed no difference. But then she stirred, for the first time at the hospital in his presence. He could see she wasn't nearly as pale as on the previous occasions. Then she opened her eyes and smiled.

  "Hi, Dad," she said softly.

  "Hi, honey."

  "Who's this man?"

  Murdoch didn't answer. Carly looked closely at Terry. He thought he detected a flicker of recognition in her gaze. Hoping to avoid any embarrassment over her possibly recalling their meeting on the streets of Hollywood, he decided to volunteer an identity.

  "I'm your Uncle Terry," he told her.

  "Uncle Terry?" she replied quickly. "Dad, I don't have an Uncle Terry."

  "Yes you do," Murdoch said, winking at Terry. "Kind of a long lost relative."

  "You don't believe us?" Terry offered. "Just check the hospital records."

  That seemed to satisfy her. Or maybe she was just too tired to question further. In fact, she soon fell back asleep. Terry glanced at Murdoch, who winked again.

  "Well, Uncle Terry," he chuckled. "You can see your niece is getting better."

  "You check with the doctors...? I mean...besides all that donation stuff."

  "They say she's out of the woods."

  Murdoch beamed as he spoke. Once more Terry was cognizant of how happy he appeared. As though perhaps he'd turned some kind of corner in his life. Or, more likely, he was simply relieved that his daughter was improving.

  "Remember the woman who came here the other day?" Terry asked him. "Lauren..."

  "Sure."

  "She knew Carly from Texas."

  "That so..."

  "She's great with kids..."

  Murdoch didn't reply.

  "Might be good idea...you let her visit Carly again."

  "Sure, any time. Just let me know so I can be here."

  "Might be better," Terry said carefully, "you not be here."

  "We can trust her?"

  "We can trust her,” Terry answered.

  Murdoch nodded, apparently approving. As Carly continued sleeping, they just stood there silently. Eventually, Terry edged toward the door to leave.

  "Oh...Uncle Terry," Murdoch grinned.

  "Yes?"

  "Thanks again for saving my ass."

  "Ditto," Terry replied, smiling for the first time since he'd gotten there.

  Chapter Twenty

  "The good news," Rick said, addressing the entire team, "is that none of you got traded. Our whole team's intact."

  It was the day following the trade deadline. All the players, wearing their uniforms, ready to take the field, sat or stood in the home locker room at Oakland Stadium. Glancing around the room, Terry saw looks of relief on virtually everyone's face.

  "The bad news," Rick continued, "is that Texas picked up a couple pitchers from Pittsburgh. And New York got Foster from Cincinnati for their weakness at third."

  A few groans wafted about the room.

  "But you know something..." Rick added. "I don't care. The fact those clubs made deals and we didn't doesn't bother me. After thinking it over, I'm glad we didn't bring in anyone new. You guys got us where we are, and you should have every opportunity to finish the job yourselves."

  Terry noticed several of his teammates nodding as Rick, undoubtedly for effect, paused briefly.

  "Maybe I'm old school," he went on, "but it just doesn't seem right to change horses in midstream. Bring in new players like Texas and New York. It almost seems like cheating.

  "And anyway, Texas and New York can spend all the money they want...buy half a dozen players each, but just remember this, money doesn't buy chemistry."

  Terry had never played organized football. But if he had, he was sure he wouldn't have heard a better pep talk.

  "I don't believe it," Carly exclaimed, breaking into a wide grin.

  Lauren grinned too. Before sitting down on a chair beside the bed, she reached for Carly's hand and held it. Terry, standing in the background a few feet away, saw how much better Carly looked. Very pretty and surprisingly alert. As he remembered her from that night in Hollywood. And, for the first time in his company, she was sitting up in bed, pillows propped against her back.

  "Dad said someone from Texas might visit...I was hoping it was you."

  Carly smiled as she spoke. But her expression quickly changed. In fact, she began to cry.

  "I wish you didn't have to see me like this," she said.

  "Me too," Lauren answered, touching Carly's face with her free hand.

  "I wish I'd stayed after the baby was born."

  "Don't worry about that now."

  "I wish I'd stayed to see him."
<
br />   "Maybe it's better you didn't."

  "Does he have a good home?"

  "I'm sure..."

  From his vantage point, Terry could tell Carly had stopped crying. And that she and Lauren still held hands. He considered breaking his silence by asking Carly how she was feeling, but decided not to interrupt.

  "Is there any way you could check on him?" Carly inquired of Lauren. "Just to be sure he's okay."

  "I could try..."

  "Thanks."

  "You've got to stop running, Carly."

  "I know..."

  They chatted a while longer. Until it became apparent Carly was getting tired. Lauren got up from the chair and kissed her on the cheek.

  "I'll keep in touch,” she said.

  "Promise?"

  "Yes..."

  "Good bye, Uncle Terry," Carly said softly.

  "Good bye, Carly."

  After leaving the room, Terry and Lauren had to sidestep a patient being wheeled down the corridor on a gurney. At the hospital lobby, Terry instinctively looked for her children, but then remembered she'd informed him, on the way to Carly's room, that she hadn't brought them today. He offered to accompany her to her car. When they exited the building, heading toward the parking structure, they were greeted by a strong wind.

  "You have a nice way with her," he said. "She trusts you."

  "Didn't seem to matter," she answered solemnly. "Didn't stop her running away."

  "Still," he said after a pause. "She's a nice kid."

  "She's a sweetheart.... That's what makes this so heartbreaking."

  "Maybe it's not too late."

  She didn't reply. He was also silent, partly because he had no more to say on the topic, and partly because the wind had blown something in his left eye. They reached the entrance to the parking structure, a two story covered edifice, and took a stairway up one flight.

  "Sorry the kids didn't come today," he said.

  "They're with my brother."

  "Their uncle?"

  "Yes, Terry," she winked. "My brother is their uncle."

  He tried laughter to mask his embarrassment at being unable to master what was clearly a difficult concept for him. This whole "uncle" thing. A person can have more than one. A brother is automatically an uncle to his sister's children.