The Closer (21 page)

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Authors: Alan Mindell

BOOK: The Closer
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She grinned.

"Guess you had plenty to do with it," he added.

"A
little
," she smiled, cleverly prolonging the theme.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked her for the second time that evening.

"Then it wouldn't have been a surprise," she answered teasingly. "Besides, there wasn't much to tell. The baby's adoption fell through. When I heard about it, I was able to arrange a court hearing. And we managed to persuade the judge to give Carly a trial period."

"Was Murdoch involved?"

"Very. He flew to Texas for the hearing, and convinced the judge that he would take complete financial responsibility."

Somewhat miffed all this had happened without his knowledge, Terry didn't reply.

"It turned out," she said, "that the judge was a baseball fan."

 

Murdoch came over as Terry, Lauren and the children stood in a corner of the lobby, sampling food they'd gathered from a buffet cart that had been wheeled in. Terry, still a bit vexed about being kept in the dark, wasn't very cordial to Murdoch. In fact, it was Lauren who introduced him to the children.

"Funny," Murdoch said. "Couple months ago, wasn't even sure I was a father. Now I'm a grandpa too."

 

Terry's vexation diminished substantially in the next few minutes. It almost always did when he was alone with Lauren. In this particular case, the two of them stood off by themselves in a corner of the lobby, simply watching her children interact with Carly and tiny Joshua.

"You see what I see?" Terry asked.

"Yes."

"Sure didn't take them long."

It certainly hadn't. The three kids had already bonded with Carly and the baby. In fact, Carly let them take turns holding him. And she couldn't keep from affectionately touching Billy, Karen and Tammy.

About an hour later, when Terry left the hospital with Lauren and the kids, he had completely forgotten his earlier dismay. He found Carly's actual graduation ceremony exhilarating. And the kids, Carly, and Joshua had continued their previous affinity.

True, he'd been a minor precipitator in the day's occurrences. No question Lauren, Murdoch, and Carly herself had played far more significant roles. But he had definitely been a participant. And that was more than enough for him.

 

When Terry entered the game, New York was batting in the top of the ninth. Oakland was leading 9-8, there were two outs, but the bases were loaded. Before the game, Rick had told Terry that he wouldn't be using him tonight (Terry had pitched in the last four games, all Oakland wins, and he had gotten the save in each).

Obviously, Rick had changed his mind. This game was too important. One more out and Oakland would sweep the four game series against New York and pull within two games of them for the wild card.

Terry finished his warm-ups and glanced around at all three baserunners. He flexed his right arm. It felt a little tired, like this
was
his fifth consecutive game. But all he needed was that one single out.

Jordan, the New York clean-up hitter, stepped into the left hand batters' box. Terry went through his "concentration" reminders. "Proper grip, over the top, stiff wrist." Bailey gave him the sign for the knuckler. Terry fired a good one, a diver, over the outside corner. Strike one.

He went through the same routine. After glancing at the runner edging off third, he chucked another knuckler. Jordan swung at this one and missed by a wide margin. Terry could tell by his look of frustration that Jordan knew he didn't have a chance. One more good one and the game would be over. Just one more strike.

Terry flexed his arm again. Bailey flashed the knuckleball sign. Terry fired. Another one that danced and dove. Jordan swung. A mighty swing. And missed by a mile. The plate umpire raised his right arm in what should have been a game-ending motion.

Except, Bailey missed the ball. It had moved so much that it avoided his glove on its path to the backstop. Jordan ran to first and the runner from third scored easily. Tie game, 9-9.

A blown save. It was little consolation that Spencer, the next batter, lofted a fly ball to left field. And that Murdoch squeezed it for the final out of the inning. Terry could only shake his head as he trudged to the dugout. And anticipated Murdoch's chastising words, "Hey, head case all you gotta do is get 'em hit the ball to me."

But, after trotting in from the outfield, Murdoch seemed to have other things on his mind. He was the leadoff batter in the bottom of the ninth.

 

Heading to the plate, Murdoch hardly noticed the late-night cold. What he did notice, after being announced by the public address man, was that for the first time in years the cheers sounded louder than the boos. Not that it mattered. He simply noticed.

He wasn't likely to get anything to hit. Not from a New York pitching staff that had purposely walked him when he threatened DiMaggio's streak. Had purposely walked him throughout this series. Why would they change strategy now, in a game tied 9-9?

Not that he wouldn't like them to. Give him the chance to extract a little revenge for the cowardly way they'd protected the record. One swing of his bat could help settle that score.

He glared out toward the mound, at Carrasco, the New York closer. The same Carrasco who issued the final walk in New York, the walk that officially ended his hitting streak. Carrasco glared back at him, then fired the first pitch. A fastball directly at Murdoch's head. Same as his final pitch in New York. Dropping quickly to the ground, Murdoch heard the ball whistle just above his left temple. He got up and slowly dusted off his uniform, then glared at Carrasco again.

Once more, Carrasco glared back. Murdoch knew he would likely throw another head hunter. Certainly it was consistent with the theme. In fact, he might expect three more bean balls.

Carrasco surprised him. Or perhaps, simply missed his target. Regardless, he threw a fastball, letter high, over the inside corner. Murdoch swung hard. Connected. And sent a towering drive to left field that not only cleared the fence, but the high wall at the rear of the grandstand. A prodigious home run, later calculated at 562 feet.

Trotting around the bases, Murdoch didn't hear a single boo in the loud ovation.

 

Terry had blown the save in the top of the ninth, but he got the win. More importantly, so did Oakland. With less than three weeks left in the regular season, they now trailed New York by only two games.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"Terry, can we stop for pizza?"

"No, Tammy. I think we'd better get back and check on your mother."

Terry's answer seemed to satisfy her. He glanced in the rearview mirror of his car, a different mini-van than last time, and saw Billy and Karen, sitting next to Tammy in the backseat, nodding their agreement. The four of them were driving back from an outdoor concert in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco's diverse cultural complex and sprawling parkland about fifteen minutes from the Rileys. Lauren was to have gone also, but she declined at the last minute, claiming she might be coming down with a cold. Concerned it could be more, Terry had looked at her questioningly, but decided not to probe.

"Terry..." Karen said. "Billy wants to ask you something."

"Sure..."

"Go ahead, Billy," she spoke bossily.

"Well..." Billy began uncomfortably.

"Go ahead, Billy," Karen continued impatiently. "Ask him."

"Well...Terry...You're not..."

"Not what, Billy?" Terry asked softly.

"You're not...going to...go away?"

"You mean…like your father did?"

"Yes..." he still spoke uncomfortably. "Like my father did."

"No, Billy. I'm not going away. I promise."

"Terry?" Billy spoke a little more firmly.

"Yes?"

"I've never..."

"Never what, Billy?" Terry tried to encourage him.

"I've never talked about my father like this..."

Terry checked his rearview mirror again and could see tears in the boy's eyes. He reached back and touched Billy's arm. They stopped at a red light. Tammy broke a brief silence.

"Terry, do you have any kids?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Not sure I'd make a good father."

"Sure you would," she coaxed. "It's easy."

"Oh?" he played along, a tinge of humor in his voice. "What would I have to do?"

"Well, take them out for pizza, play ball with them, and listen to music."

"I prob'ly could do that," he chuckled. "If I had kids."

"Well, you just go ahead and have some, Terry," she said bossily. "And we'll show you what to do."

"Sounds like a deal,” he laughed.

They got to the house. Terry parked the car and they all went inside.

 

"So you survived your first outing alone with the kids," Lauren commented.

"Piece of cake," Terry responded.

"They can be challenging."

"Tell me about it."

She smiled. Once again they were sitting on her living room couch. It being a school day tomorrow, the kids had gone to bed early. But not before Terry had spent obligatory time in each of their rooms, listening to music and listening to baseball.

She sneezed. She tried to mask it with a cough. The result was a fairly dismal exhibit of both. He did his best to choke off a laugh.

She was dressed in the same housecoat in which she'd seen them off hours earlier. "Yellowish-green frumpy" would best describe it. Nevertheless, he found both it and her utterly charming. All the more following her sneeze-cough.

"You know," he said, "I was thinking the other day. From the very first time I saw you and the kids back in El Paso my luck changed. I went from being stuck in the minors to making the majors and being here with you. Like you and the kids are my lucky charms."

She didn't reply. Instead, she smiled that alluring smile. Perhaps she didn't speak because if she had, it might have brought on another sneeze.

"Like it was yesterday," he reminisced, "I recall Karen coming up to me that miserable hot day and asking for my autograph for Billy."

She shook her head slightly in acknowledgment. And then she couldn't hold back another sneeze. Plus, the accompanying cough, which this time was much stronger than before. Two more sneezes followed, each more potent than the prior.

"I think I'd better call it a night," she said.

"Me too."

"Baseball tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow night."

She got up from the couch. He didn't move. She looked a little puzzled.

"Forgot to mention," he said, patting the couch, "I'm staying here tonight."

"That's not a good idea."

"Sure it is."

"How do you figure?" she asked.

"Long way to go late at night."

"I'm too weak now to argue," she shrugged. "But what do I tell the kids in the morning?"

"That I stayed over," he quickly answered, "so I could drive them to school."

She shrugged again.

 

"Any problems at school?" Lauren asked soon after Terry got back from dropping the kids off.

"No. Tammy just wanted me to go to her class with her."

"Really?" she questioned, looking concerned. "Was she afraid to walk by herself?"

"Oh, no," he grinned. "She just wanted to show her classmates a real live baseball player. Not one who was only on TV."

She grinned too. For a change, instead of on the living room couch, they were in her kitchen. She'd made breakfast for the kids before they left, and was making it for the two of them now.

"Been thinking about your proposal," he said following a brief silence between them.

"What proposal?" she asked, although her expression indicated she had a pretty good idea.

"You know...about us getting married."

"That wasn't a proposal," she objected.

"Sure it was," he chuckled. "You said the court would only consider me as a parent if I was married. You're the only one I would marry. Therefore, it's a proposal."

"Your logic leaves a bit to be desired," she smiled.

"What do you expect from a knuckleball pitcher?"

She laughed. She poured hot cereal into two bowls on the kitchen table and they sat down. Juice, toast and coffee were already on the table.

"Anyway," he went on, "why is it so important to the court that I be married?"

"Well, if we were married and you're living with us...with the kids, then adoption is the logical next step. After all, you'd have custody already. What's that old axiom...? Possession is nine-tenths of the law."

"So it's a done deal," he grinned again. "All I have to do is accept your proposal."

"Hey, wait a minute," she raised her hand in protest. "Slow down here. What about your promise?"

"What promise?"

"No sympathy."

"This isn't sympathy."

"What is it then?" she raised her voice a little. "A man doesn't just take on a sick woman
and
her kids."

"It's exactly what a man does when he loves her
and
her kids."

Neither of them spoke again right away. As if to accentuate his last statement, he quickly gulped down his juice, and then took a big bite of toast. Meanwhile, she didn't touch her food.

"What about finances?" she asked.

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