Wild Pitch (6 page)

He thought about it a moment. He felt sure the visitors were her parents. His courage deserted him.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said nervously. He held up the flowers. “Can you get these to her?”

She smiled. “Of course.” She stood and took the bouquet from him. “I’ll put them in a vase with water and have someone take
them to her.”

“Thanks.”

“Who shall I say left them?” she wanted to know.

He thought about that, too.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

“How about your name?”

“No.” She might throw them into a basket if she heard the flowers came from him. “Just say that they’re from a friend,” he
said.

At two o’clock Friday, Eddie and Tip rode their bikes
to the ball field and parked them next to the first-base dugout. Coach Inger was already there, knocking flies out to the
outfielders.

“Eddie, get out there,” he ordered, after the boys put on their baseball shoes.

“Oh-oh,” Tip muttered. “I guess he’s going to put you in the outfield.”

“Far out where no one can see me,” replied Eddie.

He gathered up his glove and ran to the outfield. Dale, Lynn, Tony, and Tom were already out there, bunched in a spot in center
field. Tony and Tom wore sunglasses to protect their eyes against the hot, glaring sun.

“Hi, Eddie,” Dale greeted. “What’re you doing out here?”

“Yeah, man,” chimed in Lynn, squinting against the sun. “This is ball-shaggin’ country.”

“Aren’t you going to pitch anymore?” Tony inquired.

“I don’t know,” said Eddie.

“Heads up, Eddie!” yelled Coach Inger.

Eddie braced himself. He watched the coach wallop the ball, and followed it with his eyes as it soared high toward him.

“Back up, Eddie. Back up,” Dale advised.

He backtracked, stumbled, and lost sight of the ball. Dismay swept through him. Frantically he searched the blue sky for it,
found it again, and rushed back. At the last moment he stopped and sprang ahead, realizing he had terribly misjudged it, and
saw the ball strike the ground five feet in front of him.

“You’re way off, Eddie,” Lynn informed him.

“Try it again, Eddie!” Coach Inger yelled.

The next fly was just as high as the first one, and just as difficult to judge. It seemed to shrink in size again as it reached
its zenith, and Eddie almost lost sight of it. When it began to drop, it seemed to waver in the air and dropped a foot behind
him.

“You’re getting better, Eddie, boy,” Tony remarked, grinning.

The others laughed at him as he picked up the ball and heaved it in.

“Once more!” yelled the coach.

He didn’t hit this one as high, nor as far. Eddie had
to sprint in after it. He stopped suddenly and caught the ball at his midriff.

“Nice catch, Eddie!” came Dale’s cry from behind him.

He was out there for half an hour, taking turns with the other guys in catching fly balls. He missed more than he caught,
and visualized himself as a steady bench warmer and a part-time outfielder.

“Didn’t you ever play in the outfield?” Coach Inger asked him as he came in with the other players. “You look green as that
grass out there.”

Eddie took off his cap and wiped his forehead. He felt miserable. If he couldn’t play in the outfield, he had little chance
of playing at all. “No. I’ve just played a little at first base,” he confessed.

“We’ve got a good first baseman,” the coach replied. “As a matter of fact, we’re in good shape all around except at pitching.”

“And I guess it looks like you don’t need me,” Eddie declared.

He turned away so that the coach couldn’t see the hurt look on his face. He wanted to pitch more than anything, but if he
couldn’t, he’d play any other position on the diamond if the coach would let him.

But the situation looked grim. Coach Inger just admitted that his infield was in good shape. He didn’t
have to say that his outfield was too, but Eddie knew it was. He felt like the hero in a story he had read recently,
The Man Without a Country
. Was he going to be the kid without a ball team?

“You just keep showing up,” Coach Inger suggested. “We’ll be losing Dale and Tony this year, and I’d like to make sure we’ll
have some starters in the outfield in our club next year. I don’t want you to give up pitching, either. This is your second
year with us and you’re doing fine. You have a good arm, and your control isn’t bad. Your big problem is losing concentration
and throwing the ball far off your target. Lick that, and you’ll be a fine pitcher.”

He turned to the other members of his team. “Okay, infielders!” he yelled. “Get out there! Hustle!”

Eddie watched Rod, Paul, Puffy, and Larry run out to their positions, and felt envious. If he couldn’t pitch anymore he’d
prefer to work out as an infielder. He’d rather play infield than outfield, because he felt that there was more action there.
And another thing: an infielder wasn’t expected to hit as well as an outfielder. And he was no hitter. Put him in the outfield
and he’d be as useful as a donkey.

“Eddie, grab a mitt,” said the coach. “Work out with Harry awhile, then change gloves with him and pitch to him awhile. Okay?”

“Sure.”

He put on a catcher’s mitt, walked in front of the third-base bleachers with the team’s southpaw pitcher, and worked him out.
After about ten minutes they exchanged gloves and positions, and Eddie pitched. He tried hard to concentrate on each throw,
but twice he sailed one far wide of the simulated plate, and once sent one zooming too far over Harry’s head for him to reach.

“You’re wild, man,” declared Harry, shaking his head after that third wild throw. “You’re really wild.”

Eddie pursed his lips and fought hard to control his resentment.

“I know,” he blurted. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

During batting practice, Eddie’s hits were weak blows that would be easy outs in a ball game. Only one sailed out to the outfield,
high enough to give the center fielder ample time to get under it.

He felt that his day was wasted. Practice had gained him nothing but a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t forget the game Tuesday,” Coach Inger reminded the team as they got ready to break up and leave.

“Who we playing, Coach?” Rod asked.

“The Sidewinders. What’s the matter? Don’t you look at your schedule?”

“Lost mine,” Rod replied.

The coach shook his head. “Meet me at the car. I’ve got a couple of extra ones.”

Tip socked Eddie lightly on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

They laid their shoes in the baskets of their bikes and rode off.

“What you hear about Monahan?” Tip asked Eddie.

“She’s out of intensive care,” Eddie answered.

“That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

They rode down the tree-lined, shadow-dappled street, tires singing. Tip’s asking about Monahan reminded Eddie of the flowers
he had left for her. Had she had any friends visiting her whom she might’ve asked about the flowers? he wondered. And, could
she ever have figured out that they came from him?

His thoughts were interrupted by a car driving up behind them. A green coupe. From his rearview mirror he could see it coming
closer to him, with no apparent intention of passing, even though the street was clear.

“Hey, what the heck is that guy trying to do?” he called to Tip.

Tip looked behind him. “I don’t know!”

Eddie tried to see the reflection of the driver’s face in his rearview mirror, but it was difficult. The trees along the road
caused the sun to throw flickering shadows.

But then he recognized it and yelled, “It’s her cousin!”

“Oh, no!” cried Tip. “What’s he trying to do? Run you down?”

They were nearing an intersection. “Cut down here!” Eddie exclaimed, his voice high, tense.

That cousin of Monahan’s must be sick, he thought. For Pete’s sake, he wasn’t really serious, was he? He wouldn’t dare run
me down, would he?

Eddie made the sharp turn to the right, pulling up close to the curb and then swinging up into the first driveway he came
to. Tip followed him. They both stopped on the sidewalk and looked at the green coupe that had pursued them around the corner.
It kept on going, but Eddie couldn’t fail to see the dirty look on the face of the driver and his upheld fist.

“The guy’s crazy!” he said, staring at the black smoke spewing from the exhaust pipe. “How long is he going to keep hounding
me?”

“If he does it again, call the cops,” Tip suggested. “I would.”

“I’m going to.”

They waited till the car was out of sight, then
coasted down the driveway and pedalled up the street.

Eddie realized that his breathing was faster than normal and that his palms were sweaty. The guy had scared him more than
he thought.

Eddie waited until Monday to go to the hospital to
see Phyllis Monahan. He thought that her friends and relatives would be visiting her over the weekend, and seeing her with
them around was the last thing in the world he wanted.

He picked another batch of flowers and asked his mother to fix them so he could take them with him. She had caught a cold
and decided to stay home that day. She trimmed the flowers and arranged them in an attractive bouquet.

“Nice job, Mom,” Eddie said. “But how about wrapping paper around it?”

She smiled. “Why? So no one will see what you’re carrying?”

He shrugged. “If Tip or Puffy saw me carrying flowers they’d know exactly whom I’m taking them to, and maybe get funny ideas.”

“Like what?”

He grinned coyly.

“Like maybe I like her.”

His mother smiled.

“Well, you are trying to make up to her, aren’t you?”

That was true, of course. But it wasn’t that he
liked
her. Liking her and trying to make up to her were two different things.

“I guess I am,” he admitted.

“Then don’t feel self-conscious about taking the flowers,” she told him. “I think it’s a beautiful gesture, no matter what
your reasons are.”

She got a roll of Saran wrap from under the kitchen sink, tore off a piece from it, and wrapped it around the flowers.

Eddie watched her, while her words ran through his mind again, and he wondered if he detected a double meaning in them. Frowning,
he said, “Mom, you don’t think that I … that I really like her, do you?”

Her eyes twinkled, and she grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him so that he faced the door. “So what’s so terrible about
it if you do?” she said. “Girls and boys don’t have to be enemies forever just because of a wild pitch, do they?”

He pondered that as he headed toward the door, and agreed with her. But what was Monahan’s opinion about that? If she was
anything like that
crazy cousin of hers, he might as well forget about ever getting on friendly terms with her.

He went out, looked up and down the street, saw no one he knew coming from either direction, and hurried to the garage. He
opened the door, got out his bike, and rode it to the hospital.

As he stepped up to the receptionist, he saw by the large wall clock behind her that it was five minutes after two.

“Good afternoon,” the woman greeted him sweetly. “Help you?”

“May I see Phyllis Monahan?”

The woman adjusted her pince-nez glasses and smiled. “I’m sorry, but only two people can see her at a time. There are two
visiting her now, and two are waiting. Would you like to sit down and wait?”

He looked behind him and felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. One of the two people sitting in the waiting
room was Monahan’s cousin. Their eyes met, and Eddie thought he had never seen such a cold look in his life. With the cousin
was a girl a few years younger than he. Probably his sister, Eddie guessed.

He turned back to the receptionist and hoped that his discomfort didn’t show.

“I don’t think I’ll wait,” he said.

“Suit yourself.”

He looked at the flowers in his hand, conscious of their pleasant smell, and wondered whether to leave them. Sure as heck
Monahan’s relatives were eyeing him this very minute, wondering what he was going to do, too.

He looked back at the woman. “Thank you,” he said, coming to a decision, and left.

Outside, he started down the steps and flung the flowers between two clumps of bushes. He would’ve left the flowers with the
receptionist if that darn cousin of Monahan’s hadn’t been there.

I wonder what he would’ve said if I had left them? Eddie asked himself. Would he have demanded them from the receptionist
and thrown them in the basket? Or would he have been more clever and told the receptionist politely that he’d take them up
to Phyllis when he went to see her, and then thrown them away?

Whatever, Eddie felt better not leaving them. He went to the parking lot, got on his bike, and took off for home. His thoughts
remained on Monahan. He wondered if he’d ever get to see her while she was in the hospital. Maybe he should have stayed, he
thought.

And what about that ding-a-ling cousin of hers? I can’t let him haunt me every time I see him. One of these days I’ve got
to face him, because one
of these days I’m going to see Monahan. I’ve got to. I’m not going to let her keep thinking that I hit her on purpose. All
her friends probably think the same thing, and would make her believe it too. I have to fix that—fix it as soon as possible.

He got home and told his mother what he had done with the flowers.

She frowned at him. “You threw them away? Why, for Pete’s sake?”

“Because her cousin was there,” he said. “He doesn’t like me. He thinks I hit Phyllis on purpose and wants to get even with
me.”

“Get
even
with you? What do you mean? How is he going to get even with you? You mean, beat you up?”

“I don’t know. But he came up awfully close behind me with his car the other day while I was riding my bike on the street.”

His mother stared at him. “Why did you wait until now to tell me that?”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he said.

“But it’s okay to worry me now.”