Wild Pitch (8 page)

Eddie looked at her, suddenly glad he had made it a point to see her, to know her better. She wasn’t a jerk kid, a girl who
just happened to be a good baseball player, he thought. She was intelligent, and understanding. In spite of how he had felt
about a girl playing on a baseball team before, he thought she deserved another break. It was his duty to give it to her.

“In that case, maybe I can help you,” he said.

She folded her hands on her lap and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I’d like to help you get back to playing baseball.”

She looked at him, opened her mouth as if to say something, but remained silent as footsteps sounded just outside the door.

Eddie turned and saw Mrs. Monahan in the doorway.

“May I come in now?” she asked with a hard edge to her voice.

Both Eddie and her daughter looked at her.

“Yes, Mom,” said Phyllis, and pursed her lips.

“I’ve got to go,” said Eddie. “Maybe next time I’ll see you in the afternoon.”

He headed for the door, and paused briefly in front of Mrs. Monahan.

“It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Monahan,” he said, and walked out.

Eddie was at the hospital at twenty minutes of two
the next afternoon in order to be the first one in to see Phyllis. He expected her mother to be one of the earlier visitors,
and wondered what she’d say to him if she arrived after he did and saw him waiting in the lobby.

As it turned out it was Phyllis’s cousin, Mingo, who showed up at five minutes of two. Eddie, sitting in the lobby, saw the
tall, dark-haired youth come in and walk directly to the desk. His girl friend was with him. She turned briefly, looked directly
at him, then turned back to Mingo.

Eddie saw him speak to the receptionist, then saw her give him two cards.

They started to head for the corridor, but then he saw the girl say something to Mingo, and saw them both glance back over
their shoulders at him.

The dark, annoyed burn in Mingo’s eyes was unmistakable.

They turned away and walked on.

How do you like that? Eddie thought, turning to glare at the receptionist. I thought visiting hours were
strictly
from two to four!

Bull!

He didn’t know whether to continue waiting or not, but decided he would. Maybe Mingo and his girl friend would not stay too
long. If they left early, and Mrs. Monahan didn’t show up, he could spend a few minutes with Phyllis. Maybemaybemaybe.

Mrs. Monahan came in at ten after two. She had hardly stepped into the lobby when she glanced toward the seats and saw him.

“Hi, Mrs. Monahan,” he greeted her quietly.

Her lips formed the word “Hello” before she turned away from him.

She paused briefly at the desk, then went on through the corridor.

Eddie looked at the gray-haired head of the receptionist. What kind of deal was this, anyway? he wondered.

He got up and walked to the desk. The gray head lifted. Her nice, mature face smiled. “Yes? Oh, hello, there.”

“Hi. I just saw three people go in to visit Miss Monahan. I thought that only”—a nervous feeling
crept up and he had to swallow—“that only two people were allowed to see her at a time.”

The smile broadened.

“That’s right. But the third person was Mrs. Monahan, Miss Monahan’s mother. We don’t keep mothers or fathers waiting to see
their children. Now, as soon as one or both of the others comes back—”

“Okay. I’ll wait,” Eddie cut in, knowing what she was going to say. He started back to his seat.

“Will you let me have your name, please?” she called to him. “As soon as a card’s available, I’ll call you.”

“Eddie Rhodes,” he said.

“Thank you.”

It was nearly two-thirty when Mingo and the girl returned from visiting Phyllis. They handed their cards back to the receptionist,
then Mingo turned and focused his attention on Eddie. He left the girl and came forward, a cold, disturbed look on his face.

“You here to see Phyl?”

Eddie returned his gaze. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Eddie started to answer when the receptionist
called his name. He excused himself, got a card from her, then came back to Mingo.
called his name. He excused himself, got a card from her, then came back to Mingo.

“Because I want to help her get back into baseball,” he said bluntly. “I feel I owe her that much.”

Mingo stared at him. “You mean you want to help her after what you did to her? I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t care if you do or not. But it’s true. Excuse me.”

He started toward the corridor, and Mingo grabbed his arm.

“Rhodes, you’re in for a big, fat surprise.”

Eddie searched the dark eyes. “What do you mean?”

“She doesn’t want to play anymore. She’s through. Finished. Thanks to you, pal.”

Eddie’s hopes took a plunge. “I don’t believe you.”

Mingo’s eyes glittered. “You don’t have to. She’ll tell you that personally.”

“See ya,” Eddie said.

He turned and walked down the long corridor, feeling surprised and hurt by what Mingo had told him. He took the elevator to
Phyllis’s room and found her sitting up in bed with her mother sitting on a chair close by her. They exchanged greetings,
then Mrs. Monahan got up and stepped out of the room, saying she’d be back in ten minutes.

“I suppose that means I should be out of here by the end of that time,” Eddie said softly to Phyllis, smiling.

“Not necessarily.”

She had one hand on her lap, the other combing her hair. “Been waiting long?”

“Since twenty minutes of two.”

She frowned. “Twenty minutes of two?”

“Yeah. But that’s okay. I finally made it. Feeling better?”

“Much better. I’d like to get out of here right now.”

“What’s the rush? Aren’t they treating you right?”

“Oh, sure. It’s not that. The nurses are great, except for the one who comes in early in the morning, wakes me up, and hands
me a pill. It’s just that I can’t do anything. All I do is sleep, eat, and take pills. It’s driving me up a wall.”

Eddie grinned. “How about baseball?”

“What about it?”

“Are you anxious to get started again?”

He didn’t want to tell her what Mingo had said about her decision to quit. Not yet, anyway.

She stopped combing her hair, laid the comb on top of the table, and looked at him.

“Why? Why should you care?”

“Why shouldn’t I care? It’s my fault you’re in here, isn’t it?”

“You said it was an accident.”

“Sure, it was. But it’s still my fault. So I feel I owe you one.’”

“You owe me nothing.”

He went to the window, wondering whether he’d be able to cope with her. He turned back to her. “I’ll help you play again,
Phyl,” he said seriously.

She met his eyes.

“In a pig’s eye you will.”

He stared at her. “You don’t want me to?”

“Do you think that just because I’m a girl I can’t do it without your help? I worked myself up to playing on a boys’ team,
and I think I did a good job at first base until you threw that clunker. I think I can make a comeback on my own” — she paused,
looking away from him — “if I make a comeback at all.”

Now it comes, he thought.

“What do you mean ’if’?” he asked.

She shrugged and studied her nails. “I’ve decided not to play anymore.”

Eddie stood, slightly stunned. He thought he’d be prepared for it, but hearing it from her own lips affected him more than
he had expected it would.

He came away from the window, stood by the bed,
and looked at her. She kept studying her nails; an excuse, he suspected, for her to keep from meeting his eyes.

“You can’t quit, Phyl,” he told her.

Her eyes popped up. “Oh, can’t I? Who said so? You?”

“Yes. You’d be giving up. Not only that, but you’d be letting your mother and father down. They wanted you to play.”

“Now you sound like a father. Or a shrink. Are you going to major in psychiatry when you go to college?” she asked smartly.

He grinned. “Quit kidding, Phyl. Be serious.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I — I’m just afraid that I— I can’t face a pitcher anymore!”

“Any pitcher? Or just me?”

“I don’t know!”

Their eyes met and held. Then she looked away, grabbed a tissue from the table, and wiped her eyes.

“That’s the biggest reason why you can’t quit, Phyl,” Eddie said. “You’ve
got
to get back into baseball. Don’t you see? You’ve got to get over that feeling. And I want to help you. I mean it. I really
want to help you.”

Her eyes reddened.

“I’ll— I’ll think about it,” she said.

He smiled. “I hope you will. I’m going now. Your mother should be coming back soon, anyway.” He headed for the door. “Take
care.”

“I will. Thanks for coming, Eddie.”

There was a game on Wednesday. The Lancers were
up against the Bruins, and Eddie had to pitch because Harry was sick.

Eddie looked at the coach, pleased for the chance to pitch again, but suddenly worried, too, that he might throw another wild
pitch and hit another batter.

The coach seemed to have read his thoughts as he patted Eddie on the shoulder and said, “We have only two guys on our pitching
staff, Eddie, ol’ boy. You’ve
got
to pitch. I could put Larry, or Paul, or any of the other guys in there, but I don’t want this game turned into a circus.
The Bruins are good, and you’re the only one I’ve got who can pitch against them and make this a ball game. Okay?”

Eddie shrugged. He wasn’t going to argue. He didn’t believe in questioning a coach’s decision, even if he disagreed with it.
Anyway, he knew he couldn’t have changed the coach’s mind, so why argue?

“What have you heard about Phyllis Monahan?” Coach Inger asked him.

“She’s coming along okay.”

“Good. Have you been up to see her?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going up tonight,” said the coach. “Okay, Eddie. Try to keep the ball in there. Don’t throw too hard, just try to concentrate
on the plate.” He grinned placidly. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

Oh, sure. Don’t worry about a thing. Why did coaches say that when worry was part of the game? Eddie shrugged, then dismissed
the thought.

The Bruins had first bats, and Eddie walked up to the mound as if he were a stranger to it. His palms were sweaty. He scooped
up a handful of soft dirt, rubbed it over his palms, then dropped it at his feet.

The ump handed a new ball to Tip, and Tip tossed it to him. Eddie threw in a half dozen pitches, trying to hit Tip’s target
with each one, and succeeded four out of six times.

“Play ball!” said the ump, then turned his back to Eddie and wiped off the plate with a whisk broom.

The Bruins’ leadoff batter stepped to the plate, and Eddie sized him up. He was short, heavy, and held his bat high over his
right shoulder.

“Nothing too good, Eddie, boy!” Larry called from third.

“No sticker! No sticker, Eddie!” Puffy’s voice boomed from short.

From Tony in right field: “Juice it by ’im, Eddie! Juice it by ’im!”

Somebody from the stands yelled, “Don’t hit him, Eddie!”

Somebody else yelled, “This one’s a he, Eddie! Be good to him!”

Laughter followed the yells.

Eddie reddened as he toed the rubber and looked at the ball, turning it so that his first two fingers crossed the laces. He
pretended he wasn’t listening to the needling remarks, but the voices were so clear coming from behind third base he couldn’t
miss them.

He walked the man on five pitches, then tried to take it easier on the second batter, expecting him to bunt. Instead, the
batter laced the ball out to right center for two bases, and a run scored.

Tip and Puffy came in toward the mound and tried to settle him down.

“Don’t listen to those monkeys in the stands,” said Puffy. “They don’t know any better.”

“This next batter’s big, but he swings like an old, rusty gate,” said Tip, spitting into his mitt. “Throw ’em fast and you’ll
whiff ’im.”

Eddie wasn’t worried about throwing them fast; he was worried about hitting a batter. His second pitch almost nicked the big
kid’s belt, but he hit the corners on the next two, then struck the kid out.

“There you go, Eddie!” Tip yelled, laughing.

A pop fly to Puffy and a grounder to Paul at second base ended the top of the first inning.

Eddie walked off the mound amid a chorus of cheers from Lancer fans.

“See, Eddie? You did all right,” Coach Inger said, tapping him on the back. “Your control looks pretty good.”

Eddie shrugged. Must be that my nervousness wasn’t showing, he thought.

The Lancers picked up two runs on Larry’s walk, Lynn’s double to left center, and Tip’s single over first.

The Bruins scored in the top of the second on a walk and two singles. One of Eddie’s pitches soared over Tip’s leaping reach,
and another moved the batter back six inches, drawing jeers from the fans.

“Keep them
away
from the batter,” Tip advised him as they walked off the field together. “Most of your pitches seem to be on the batter’s
side. No wonder the crowd thinks you’re trying to brush him off sometimes.”

“I don’t. I never do.”

“I know that,” exclaimed Tip. “But the fans don’t.”

When the Lancers finally got up again, Puffy led off with a single. Eddie got Coach Inger’s sign to bunt, but after two foul
tips he had to swing or risk a strikeout. He swung, and belted a single over shortstop. Puffy ran to second and tried to stretch
it to third, only to get tagged out trying a Pete Rose slide on his belly.

Larry got on again, this time on an error by the shortstop, who made a nice catch of Larry’s grounder, then heaved it a mile
over the first baseman’s head.

Two singles in a row by Dale and Lynn helped the Lancers put two more runs on the board. Bruins 2, Lancers 4.

Eddie walked the first batter in the top of the third. The second Bruin laid down a bunt to move up the runner, but the ball
only bounced two feet in front of the plate. Tip pounced on it like a cat and threw out the runner at second. Puffy, making
the play, almost doubled the runner at first, but missed by a step.