by Darin Gibby
“I wonder where the home runs land,” Peck said to Austin as he leaned over the metal railing separating them from the murky waters of the Bay.
“I’m not sure, but I wish I could be in one of those boats when they sail over the wall. Slider needs to knock one out.”
It was nearly three o’clock by the time Alicia had finished her snack—too late for anymore sightseeing. Keri called the driver to take her and Alicia back to the hotel so they could freshen up. Peck and Austin said they’d stick around while Gil checked in with the other All-Stars.
***
The day before the All-Star game, the league sponsored a host of festivities, from speed pitching booths to batting cages. Those who couldn’t afford tickets to the actual game often settled for the home run derby, held the evening before the game. Gil wasn’t participating, but that didn’t stop him from chauffeuring his family on field, where Austin and Alicia shook the hands of the baseball elite and met their families. Alicia spent most of her time picking up toddlers and letting them run their fingers through her hair. None of the players had a child Alicia’s age, or even as old as Austin.
Gil was like Ryan Seacrest on New Year’s Eve, maneuvering between players, reporters, and fans. The All-Stars were there to have a good time, to relax and enjoy being around baseball’s greatest. They all knew that someday, barring some unfortunate accident, or doing something stupid like betting on baseball, they’d all be hall of famers. Cameras were everywhere, and there were so many reporters that Slider could talk all night and never cross paths with Gil.
Sensing the chance of a lifetime, Peck took it upon himself to meet with reporters. He provided an all-American picture of Gil and his family and Gil’s life as a high school teacher and coach. For one night, like at the Academy Awards show for actors, controversy was off limits. Reporters focused on the magic of the game, not its darker moments of drug abuse, betting, or sex scandals. His guard down, Gil even let Alicia answer a few questions; they were easy questions, like how much fun she was having spending her summer with her dad and what she thought of his instant fame.
“He’s just my dad,” she said. “Some people might think that he’s just become famous, but he’s always been famous to me.”
The focus of the evening was supposed to be on the home run kings, the sluggers known for putting it out of the park. Small boats and swimmers in thick neoprene suits filled the waters, waiting for any ball that escaped the park. But most of the cameras couldn’t keep from switching to Gil, zooming their lenses to capture him laughing with his fellow athletes, making crazy faces at their children, and demonstrating how Slider performed his slides—while Slider wasn’t watching.
Gil wasn’t sure what to do when he was introduced to Kenny Chesney, who had a guitar slung around his neck. “What, nobody told you?” the country singer said, shifting the leather strap of his own guitar over his white T-shirt. Before Gil could reply, a six-string was slipped over his shoulder, and a slew of cameras began clicking their shutters.
“Do you know How Forever Feels?”
Gil strummed the strings, shifting between the chords of the popular tune. “I can do that,” he said with a smile that showed every one of his gleaming white teeth.
“When your season is over,” Chesney said, “I’m doing this benefit. We’re going to raise a whole bunch of money for multiple sclerosis, and this is my way of asking if you’ll join me.”
***
Having received the most votes for a pitcher, Gil would be starting. The manager for the LA Dodgers was selected to oversee the National League team, and Gil told him he only wanted to throw for two innings. “There’s lot of guys here who want playing time, and that’s fine with me. My arm needs the break.”
On the mound, Gil followed Preacher’s meticulous instructions. He remembered the pitches for each of the batters, following his routine of three taps in glove before each pitch. Facing the best batters in the league, Gil gave up a hit in both innings, but no runs scored. But nobody cared about the score; they were here to see speed. Even in the cool, damp air from the moisture lingering over the Pacific Ocean, Gil managed a 109-mile-an-hour fastball. The crowd roared.
No divers would be collecting balls on his watch. As the ringing of the cheers sank in his ears, he still couldn’t believe he was here. It was all too surreal. Gil thought of Melvelene and whether she was watching. His father was a different matter. Gil hadn’t invited him, and Pastor Ron’s face fell when Gil broke the news that he couldn’t get him a ticket. Gil knew he should have expressed his disgust over the Melvelene PR stunt, and that was the real reason for not extending an invitation to him to the All-Star game; but he couldn’t do it. Gil’s stomach churned, and he scanned the cheering crowd to dispel the thought. He was glad to be finished for the evening. If he had to take the mound again, he knew there’d be trouble.
Nestled back in the dugout, Gil enjoyed the rest of the game. The LA manager inserted Slider into the lineup during the seventh inning, where he clobbered a double and shot into second base with his patented slide. The Cleveland center fielder followed Slider, knocking out a homer, as if to ensure that Slider couldn’t do a repeat at home base. The National League won seven to six, and Gil spent an hour after the game signing autographs before collecting his family and heading to the hotel.
31
SO FAR, THE details of his lawsuit with Randall Kite’s daughter, along with the embarrassing photos, hadn’t leaked. Gil had concluded Randall Kite was just bluffing. Shaila’s father was an extortionist, trying to swindle him out of money but with no intention of making a scene. How could he be sued for just being a high school coach?
The Gilberts were in a deep sleep when the doorbell jolted Keri awake. She rubbed her eyes, noticed the clock read five, and nudged Gil. The ringer buzzed again, accompanied by a pounding on the wooden door.
“Who in the king’s name is knocking down our door at this time in the morning?” Keri said.
“Let me get my gun,” Gil said groggily.
“You don’t own a gun. Do you think our house is on fire?”
That was enough for Gil to throw off the sheets and shake his head. He found some sweat pants draped over the desk chair and slipped them on. He felt his way down the hallway, as he smelled for smoke. The doorbell rang again, and he could hear Alicia stirring in the adjacent room.
Gil didn’t bother asking who was intruding on their privacy, but simply threw open the door. He was greeted with a blinding light and the familiar sound of camera lenses clicking. He realized there was a fire, but it wasn’t their home burning.
A male reporter wearing a tweed jacket shoved a newspaper into his chest. “Care to comment?” he said with a microphone poked into his nose.
Gil shielded his eyes and tried to focus on the bold font printed on the crumpled paper. “Please, cut the lights.”
After his pupils adjusted, he saw the all-too-familiar sight of Caitlyn with her shirt half-lifted over her head, and her fluorescent pink sports bra exposed to the world. And, his ogling eyes were staring right at her. Another picture below captured a half a dozen cheerleaders, all with their shirts pulled up, and Shaila grabbing the side of her face as a baseball ricocheted off her skull. He didn’t need to read the headlines to understand the implication.
The blinding lights snapped back on and the reporter repeated his question. Gil rubbed his eyes. “I never talk before my morning coffee.” He tossed the paper back and grabbed the brass doorknob. “Now can you please leave me alone?”
That was the first time he’d shooed away any member of the media. He leaned against the door, hoping that somehow he could stay the oncoming tide, and he shoved the door closed. With his adrenaline pumping, it crashed shut, shaking the walls.
Keri was standing in her robe, arms folded. “They know, don’t they?”
“The lawsuit? Yeah, they know. Front page news.”
“Well, let me see it.”
“I threw the paper back at them.�
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Keri flung her arms down and pushed herself past him. She tightened her robe about her and yanked the door handle.
“They’ll get your photo,” Gil warned. “You’re only going to make it worse.”
It was too late. More cameras flashed, but that didn’t stop Keri. She forced her way onto the porch, found the first reporter holding a paper and tore it from him. “Give me that!”
Keri once again emerged carrying her prey and shoved Gil out of the way. He listened as she stomped down the hall and slammed the bedroom door shut.
More than twenty years of marriage was enough to know better than to follow her. Gil flipped on the light in the kitchen and began brewing some coffee. Today he was going to need lots of caffeine. A shot of brandy might be better.
Gil was sitting at the table, blankly staring into his cup when he heard the bedroom door open. He listened as Keri’s slippers shuffled down the hall. Her petite figure appeared in the doorway, the paper folded under her arm.
“You knew, didn’t you?” she spat out.
“Knew what? About the lawsuit? Of course.”
“Don’t get smart with me, Gil. You know what I’m talking about. The photos. You knew, didn’t you?”
Gil paused, searching for how to respond. He studied her eyes, realizing the hurt that would come if he lied.
“Shaila’s lawyer said he had some photos of the accident. Since I didn’t do anything wrong, I just figured they doctored the photos.”
Keri slammed the paper to the floor. “Doctored!” she screamed. “The Post does not doctor.”
The heated argument caused Alicia and Austin to venture out of their rooms. Seeing the scattered papers on the floor, Alicia hurried and scooped them up.
“What are you going to do, Gil?” Keri said, her eyes tearing up.
“I need to see my lawyer.”
“You have a lawyer? This is news to me.”
“It’s the school’s lawyer.”
Gil rubbed his whiskers. He needed a sympathetic ear. He wandered into the front room. By now, Alicia had the paper spread out on the coffee table. Austin was pointing and his mouth hung open.
“Dad, that’s Caitlyn hanging out.”
Alicia slapped his face. “Watch your language.”
“She’s wearing a sports bra,” Gil said.
“But she’s on the front page of the Post,” Austin said, holding the side of his face. “Everyone’s going to see her.”
Alicia, kneeling over the wreckage, looked up, her ponytail swaying, and said, “Really Dad?”
“It’s not what you think. Girls wear a lot less than that to my class every day, and that’s not national news.”
“Oh, so you look at them too?” She narrowed her eyes and swatted the paper onto the floor. Without saying a word, she scooted around him and went into the bedroom.
“I can’t believe this,” Gil mumbled. “Bill Clinton ruins a blue dress and he’s a hero, but this—”
Austin shrugged and wandered into the kitchen. “I’m getting some cereal,” he said.
Gil sat alone in the front room for close to an hour, pondering his options. He heard the bedroom door squeak on its hinges, and Keri and Alicia emerged. Their eyes were red and swollen. Gil stood up.
“Don’t say anything,” Keri said. “We’re going to sit here and talk this out, but you’re going to do the talking.”
Before she could continue, the front door flew open.
“Holy crap, you know how many news vans are out there?”
Instantly, Alicia ran to him and threw her arms about his bulky shoulders. “Peck, thanks for coming,” she said.
Peck glared over her head at Gil. “Sure, sure. I’m here to help. Have you seen what’s on the internet?”
“No,” Keri said. “Just the Post article so far. What’s the damage?”
“That Gil doesn’t call his own pitches.”
“I don’t care about that,” Keri said.
“It’s not all bad. They did say he was a fantastic high school teacher, and one of the most winning coaches in the state. Lots of good quotes from his students and faculty, including how his science class brings the fun back into learning.”
“Don’t try to put a good spin on it,” Keri said. “Did you catch what they said about his double life, about how he acts good yet he’s so bad; about how he’s just like all the rest of the sports heroes—nothing but a big lie.”
“Didn’t catch that,” Peck said.
“The drugs?”
“Yeah, I caught that.”
Gil reached over and ripped the paper from Keri’s hands. He tore it to shreds, letting the papers float to the floor. “Drugs? No, that’s not true, and you all know it. I’m not going to take this.”
Peck reached over and put his hand on Gil’s shoulder. “It’s a serious charge, Gil. It’s all over the internet, and ESPN is going crazy. They said you’re taking steroids, even have a bottle that Dr. Kusha prescribed.”
“But how?”
“Who knows? But it’s put the baseball world in a frenzy. The players’ union is now threatening legal action against the replacement players because of how they are supposedly ruining America’s pastime. The drug abuse angle is exactly what they were looking for.”
Gil sauntered to the window and parted the curtain, then shook his head. Why all this? He was trying to live his dream, and it seemed like everyone wanted to take it from him. They’d humiliated him and tried to ruin his marriage. He’d lost the respect of his kids.
He couldn’t keep living like this. He had to make a decision—in or out. Either he was going to live his dream or he wasn’t. If he was, it was going to be on his own terms.
32
GIL STUFFED A pair of clean socks in his duffle bag when he heard the voice of his father in the kitchen. A rustle of papers was followed by a condemnation. “This is all of the Devil!”
He zipped his bag and bounded down the hall to interrupt his father before Pastor Ron let loose on Keri. When their eyes locked, Gil could sense fire and brimstone were about to erupt. “How could you?” Pastor Ron said before Gil could open his mouth.
Pastor Ron picked up the crumpled paper from the table, still riddled with half-filled cereal bowls. Keri pushed her way past Gil. “This time it’s your battle,” she said on the way to the bedroom.
“I’m asking you to resign,” Pastor Ron started. “It’s time to put away childish things. You are mocking God. You know, twenty years ago, I had this dream—that you were going to be one of the baseball greats, maybe even a hall of famer. God was smiling on you. But it was for a reason. God chose you to spread his word. When the children of America, the upcoming generation, saw Gil Gilbert praying to God before every game, they would follow. You were called to lead them.
“But you failed God, and you failed me. Having a child out of wedlock ruined everything. God is good, and he forgave you. Look what you accomplished at Prairie Ridge, and you stayed faithful to your family. So God gave you a second chance at baseball. He gave you that arm. He didn’t have to, but he did. And all he wanted from you was to be a good Christian. Was that too much to ask? You’re too ashamed to pray anymore, and now I know why. Well, I’m here to ask you to stop the mockery.”
Gil placed his arm about his father’s shoulder. “I’m going to keep playing.”
Pastor Ron’s eyes narrowed. “If you do, you’ll regret it. You can’t make a fool out of God.”
His father pushed him aside and stormed out of the room. The side door to the garage slammed shut with a loud bang. Gil looked at his watch. He was late for the ballpark.
33
GIL’S MOBILE PHONE rang. He saw that the call came from Melvelene’s daughter, Cindi, so he took it. Cindi said that Melvelene wanted to see him and that it couldn’t wait. Her voice had a sense of urgency.
Gil hesitated, wondering if the matter was really that pressing. He had so many things to do, including a visit to his attorney on the way to the game.
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br /> “What time would she like me there?”
“Right now would be good,” she said. “Melvelene wants to see her favorite baseball player, and she’s adamant. The nurse is here too, and she says you should come right over.”
He could imagine how forceful Melvelene had stated her request. He would miss his meeting with his lawyer and would probably be late to the ballpark. Still, it was a request he couldn’t deny. Whatever his problems, they couldn’t possibly compare to what Melvelene must be facing.
He put down the phone and sped over to Cindi’s home, where Melvelene was now receiving care. Walking up the cracked sidewalk, he wondered what he should say. What do you tell someone who is having a bout with anxiety, who is apparently struggling with the fear of death? How do you provide any comfort?
He crept up the concrete stairs to the gray clapboard home. The black shutters were cracked and the rain gutters were missing their paint.
It had been less than a week since she’d come to the Rockies game, but Gil noticed a marked change in Melvelene’s physical condition. Her step had slowed, her breathing was labored, and her strength was clearly failing. He doubted whether she would ever see Alaska.
“They call me the dough boy,” she said, jiggling her belly. “Since you last saw me, I’ve gained four inches around my waist. I hate this new medication.”
Her rotundity did make her look a little odd. Her frame was petite until just a few days ago. “It’ll come off, don’t worry,” she said optimistically.
“Packed for Alaska?” Gil said.
