The Closer

by Alan Mindell

  "You read her right."

  "And you want to back off...?"

  Terry shrugged.

  "How'll she interpret that?"

  Terry shrugged again.

  "I'll tell you how. That you really don't care. That you're not willing to hang in and fight this thing through. And no question in my mind she's worth it."

  Terry sensed that Murdoch was about to say more. That he was aware of things that he could reveal. But, he kept quiet at that point.

  Meanwhile, Terry's only response was to poke at a piece of ravioli with his fork. He felt full, despite over half his dinner remaining. Murdoch quickly devoured the rest of his food, and then glanced at Terry's as if he intended to finish it too.

  "I say you escalate," he declared, motioning for their waiter.

  "Escalate?" Terry questioned. "How?"

  "I'll leave that up to you."

  Murdoch did end up eating most of the rest of Terry's meal. When their waiter came over, he requested a slice of apple pie with three scoops of ice cream, and seemed very disappointed when Terry declined to order dessert.

  More than two weeks had passed since Lauren's awful disclosure. During that time, Terry had done only sporadic research on the subject of lupus. The very next day following the dinner with Murdoch, though, he spent the entire morning and early afternoon in the library, exploring the disease via books and computer.

  What he found was lupus was an auto-immune disorder. Women were by far its most likely victims. It was both chronic and incurable.

  There was some good news, however. The disease rarely caused death. It wasn't transmittable, and there was no evidence of it being hereditary.

  These favorable items, though, were fearsomely offset by his findings on lupus and blood clots. Yes, they could be a problem. And yes, they could be fatal.

  When he left the library, Terry certainly felt no better than when he got there.

  Terry listened as the phone rang on the other end. He anticipated Lauren's voice. Instead, it was Karen who answered with a hello.

  "Hi, Karen. Is your mama there?"

  "Hi, Terry. She doesn't feel very well. She's taking a nap."

  "I'll call back later."

  "We're going out later," she quickly reported. "School starts tomorrow and Mama wants to buy us some supplies."

  "How are you?"

  "Fine."

  "And Billy and Tammy?"

  "Tammy's fine. She begins kindergarten. It's her first day of school ever."

  "Nice. And Billy?"

  "Sad."

  "Sad?" he responded. "Why?"

  "He asked Mama when you were coming over and she said you might not for a while. He asked her why, because he knows you're not on a road trip."

  "What did she say?"

  "She didn't answer him."

  Terry didn't reply. He began to feel sad himself. Maybe he should speak to Billy. But then, that might only confuse things.

  "Bye, Terry."

  "Bye, Karen."

  After hanging up, he pondered his next move.

  Trying to analyze the team's recent decline, Rick sat in his office at Oakland Stadium, statistics for the first three weeks in August in front of him. Team batting average was below .220 for the period. On base percentage only .260. Slugging percentage barely .300. Earned run average over 6.00.

  No wonder they'd managed only seven wins in twenty-two games played so far this month. And had fallen to six-and-a-half games behind Texas in the division and five behind New York for the wild card. How could he stop the bleeding?

  He returned to the earned run average figures. And in particular to the bullpen. Their numbers were over 7.00 for the period. And, of course, that brought him to Terry.

  Sure he'd told Terry he was the closer. But how long would front office stand for it? The blown saves and skyrocketing earned run average.

  If things didn't get better soon, he might be forced to make a change. He might have to try someone else in the closer role.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Terry parked his rental car—this one a blue and white mini-van—in front of the white house. Nothing to do now except wait. It was a cool overcast early-morning, and he zipped up his green windbreaker.

  Fifteen minutes passed. Half an hour. He saw no sign of life in the house. What if things had changed? Or worse, he'd missed them entirely. He might just sit there all morning, waiting for something that wasn't going to happen.

  Then finally Karen came out of the house. Followed by Tammy and Billy. Lauren appeared. The four of them headed for her yellow compact.

  No one noticed him right away. Then, while getting into Lauren's car, Billy seemed to spot him. Billy waved and said something to Lauren. She headed toward Terry and, as he rolled down his window, he could see she looked puzzled.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked.

  "First day of school," he stated nonchalantly, as if the answer were obvious. "We can take my van."

  Frowning, she shook her head and didn't reply. Was she simply surprised by his presence? Or was he not welcome?

  "Tammy's first day of school ever," he chuckled. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

  She broke into a smile. It was beginning to mist and she looked up toward the sky. Then she shrugged.

  "More room in my car," he said.

  She shrugged again and waved the kids over. While they were coming, she returned to her car and got an umbrella. He smiled once they'd all gotten into his car.

  "Do you know the way?" she asked.

  "Checked it out before I came to the house," he winked at her.

  The school was only a few blocks away. By the time they reached it, the mist had stopped. He parked near the front of the school. He and Lauren got out with the kids.

  "Want us to walk with you to your class?" Lauren asked Tammy.

  "No Mommy, I'm a big girl now."

  He chuckled again. Lauren gave all three kids a hug and he patted them on the back. The kids left for the school together. Tammy stopped them after a few steps and they doubled back.

  "Mommy," she said, "can Terry come over after school and listen to music and baseball?"

  "We'll see, honey," Lauren grinned. "We'll see."

  "He can't Tammy," Billy said. "He has a game."

  Terry grinned too.

  "I think," Terry said to Lauren as he pulled up in front of her house again, "we should do something we've never done before."

  "What?" she asked, looking both dubious and puzzled.

  "Go out on a Saturday night date. Just the two of us. No kids."

  Again, she looked dubious and puzzled. Actually, he didn't know exactly what he had in mind. He merely sensed that they badly needed time together, just the two of them, in a relaxed environment.

  "No kids," was all he would say, for the second time.

  With that, he simply walked her to her front door, went back to his car, and drove off.

  "Things going any better, honey," Murdoch said during what had become his regular evening conversation with Carly.

  "They don't make it easy, Dad."

  "That's part of the deal," he replied, recalling dialogue with Sheila while she was in drug rehab.

  "They have tough rules, Dad. Won't bend them for anybody."

  "It'll be over before you know it."

  "Dad, do you know how Lauren is doing?"

  "I'll check with Uncle Terry."

  "I wonder if she knows any more about the baby."

  "I'll try and find out," Murdoch spoke a little vaguely.

  "Dad, they've got me looking at a lot of things."

  "That's what they do."

  "Dad?"

  "Yes, honey?"

  "I'm so sorry for all the grief I've caused."

  He could tell she was close to crying, and was almost glad when she soon hung up.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  "I hear they need a singer for the next song," Terry told Lauren, a mischievous smile on his face.

&nbs
p; She looked at him strangely. They'd been on their "Saturday night date" for about an hour. The six-piece band, which had been on break, began to queue up for its next set. Terry glanced at them. Then, still smiling, he turned back to Lauren, sitting beside him at their table.

  The music started. He watched her, able to tell from her expression that she recognized the song from the very first bars. "Fever" was playing.

  "They need a singer," he coaxed, a grin replacing his smile.

  "You're not serious," she objected.

  "Of course I am. That's your song."

  "I couldn't possibly," she looked a bit flustered. "It was so long ago."

  "Well, then," he kept grinning, "the least you can do is dance with me."

  "Okay," she sounded hesitant. "As long as you don't mind how rusty I'll be."

  "As long as you don't mind," he quickly retorted, "how awful I dance."

  The reason for his statement became evident right away. Once they reached the nearby dance floor, his movements were awkward at best. He was thankful she didn't laugh. Meanwhile, if she was rusty, he couldn't tell. She was graceful, a splendid dancer.

  "Wish I could say I was just rusty," he uttered once they returned to their table.

  "I suppose you arranged that," she said, ignoring his comment.

  "Arranged what?" he asked, his expression as innocent as he could muster.

  "That song."

  He shrugged, doing his best to maintain innocence. Rather than look at her and risk a guilt-confirming chuckle or laugh, he watched the band, which was performing another number. From there, he gazed around the elegant nightclub. Situated atop a luxurious San Francisco Nob Hill hotel, it offered a spectacular view of the city spread out before them. Crystal chandeliers hung from a high ceiling above.

  Finally, he turned back to her. She looked absolutely lovely in a lavender dress. It was the first time she'd worn a dress in his presence. Her earrings sparkled, and prompted him to notice her ears, which stuck out ever so slightly, in a very charming way. She seemed quite comfortable in her attire, unlike him. He'd worn brown, a sports coat and tie, and they both made him squirm occasionally because they fit too snugly.

  "About the other night..." he said. "I want to apologize."

  "Please don't."

  "I was out of line."

  "It was more me," she disagreed. "I just don't want us going places we shouldn't go…with my circumstances."

  "I understand."

  "Plus, there's something else...”

  "What?" he asked.

  "I'm afraid you're trying to take advantage of someone...in distress."

  "I'd have given up long ago if that's what I was doing," he promptly countered.

  She didn't reply. He glanced around the room again. Then he gazed at her once more.

  "You look so...radiant," he said.

  "Music always does that to me," she smiled.

  "I'm still having trouble with the idea that you're…in distress. The way you look right now."

  "We danced," was her simple explanation.

  "You danced. I bumbled."

  She laughed. He was discovering that he liked her laugh as much as he liked her smile. He was unable to keep from touching her arm.

  "I'm sure," he went on cautiously, "you've done the research."

  "On my condition? Of course I have."

  "I mean this thing about…blood clots."

  "Dozens of books and dozens of specialists."

  "Are there things?" he asked, motioning toward the dance floor, "that they don't want you doing?"

  "No. They want me living normally. Just so I take my medication."

  "What kind?'

  "Well," she replied after hesitating briefly, "if you want the gory details.... Blood thinners."

  He paused to reflect. This information certainly concurred with his recent research. Unfortunately confirming what she had revealed weeks ago—that blood clots were the danger, and, no question, a potentially grave one.

  "What about treatments?" he pressed on. "Or therapy?"

  "None. Just weekly checkups with my doctor."

  "Is he doing everything he can for you?"

  "She. And yes, she is."

  "If there's anything I can do..." he offered.

  "Thanks."

  The band continued playing. A waiter came over to take drink orders. Once he left, Terry braved touching her hand. She didn't move it, so he kept his hand there.

  "Any more thought about the kids?" he asked.

  "You mean for later on?"

  "Yes."

  "Yes, I'm working on something."

  "Oh?"

  "I've contacted a couple of adoption agencies."

  "Adoption agencies!" he exclaimed, very surprised.

  "Yes. All my years in social work, I've found some very selective ones."

  "You mean you'd leave the kids with strangers!"

  "Not with strangers," she corrected. "I'll interview very thoroughly."

  He didn't reply right away. The waiter returned with their drinks. Still upset, Terry quickly sipped from his. He thought a minute before speaking again.

  "Promise me something."

  "What?"

  "That you'll let me help interview," he said firmly. "Especially any final choice you're about to make."

  "Okay..." she replied after a brief pause.

  "Now," he spoke while glancing at the band. "How about another dance? I'll try to do better."

  She grinned and got up. He held her hand and led her to the dance floor. The band started a new song.

  He did do better this time. But only slightly.

  "Would you like to come in?" Lauren asked Terry as they walked from his rental mini-van to her front door.

  "Better not."

  "Baseball tomorrow?"

  "Yes. But that's not the reason."

  "What is the reason?" she asked as they got to the door.

  He hesitated. Wasn't this his opportunity? At last alone in the house with her, no kids to interrupt (she'd told him earlier in the evening they were spending the night with her brother).

  "Well," he finally answered her, "Billy's probably told you how awful I've been pitching."

  "He mentioned something."

  "I've been terrible. Miserable."

  "What's that have to do with coming inside?" she asked a little impatiently.

  "Well," he risked, a slight chuckle in his voice, "I'm afraid you'll try to take advantage of someone...in distress."

  She laughed heartily, so his risk had been worth it. It was also worth it to linger with her at her door, because she looked no less lovely than she had all evening. In fact, with the idea so firmly planted in his mind that he could be alone with her inside, she looked even lovelier. Wasn't he making a giant mistake?

  "Are you sure?" she tested him some more.

  "I'm sure," he held steadfast, then turned and began walking toward the van.

  "Terry," she called after him.

  "Yes?" he said, turning back toward her hopefully.

  "I like you in a coat and tie."

  "Thanks," he muttered.

  After he drove off, the image of her standing beside him at her door stayed with him all the way home.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Terry began warming up. The afternoon sun was warm in the Oakland Stadium left field bullpen, and he knew it wouldn't take long. Oakland was batting in the bottom of the eighth with a 4-2 lead. Rick had already told him that he would pitch the ninth.

  Conditions were almost perfect. The prevailing wind that Rick had often spoken of was blowing fiercely. Their opponent was Anaheim, a weak-hitting team. Plus, the lower end of their order was due up, the seven, eight and nine spots. Terry sensed that this was an easy save opportunity. But he also sensed that if he blew this one, very likely he would lose his job as the closer. No matter what Rick had told him.

  "Good luck, Terry."

  He promptly recognized the voice and turned. Karen, leaning ove
r the wall to his right, waved to him. His memory could be forgiven because so much time had elapsed, but he was almost sure that the first time she had called to him, back in Texas, she was wearing the same blue dress she had on today. She pointed up into the grandstand a few rows. Lauren, Billy and Tammy were sitting there, and they also waved to him.

  What a surprise. Although he'd talked to them all this very morning, Sunday, none of them mentioned coming to the game. If he'd known, he would have gladly left tickets for them. Maybe they'd decided to come at the last minute. Whether they were there for the entire game, or just part, he had no idea.

  He focused on his warm-ups. On using the proper grip for the knuckler. On coming over the top. On keeping his wrist stiff. Oakland did not score in the eighth, so he had only the two-run lead when he entered the game.

  As he faced the first Anaheim batter, a righty, he concentrated on the same items again—concentration, what had been missing from all his performances lately. He had no excuse today. Everything was in his favor. All the more since Lauren, Billy, Karen and Tammy were present.

  Except the favorable wind soon betrayed him. Not because it adversely affected his knuckler. It didn't. No, the batter hit a twisting pop up down the right field line. First baseman Steiner could have easily caught it, but the wind blew it barely out of his reach. Runner on first, no outs, potential tying run, a lefty, coming to the plate.

  The lefty hit a towering pop fly behind shortstop—what should have been an easy play for Oates, except the wind intervened again. This time, at the last instant, it swirled the ball over his head, and it fell untouched to the turf. Tying runs on, still no outs.

  Terry turned and looked fitfully beyond the left field bullpen. Of course he couldn't spot Lauren and the kids from that distance, however he could imagine them watching. About to view another of his disasters? About to witness firsthand his removal from the closer role?

  He gritted his teeth. No, he couldn't let that happen. He concentrated hard on doing everything right. He threw a perfect "diver" over the outside corner. The batter, another lefty, hit one more pop up. Again the wind played its demonic tricks, this time causing the ball to evade third baseman O'Rourke. But the infield fly rule came into effect, so the hitter was automatically out.