Grand Slam

by Tim Green

  The arrival of Jalen’s mom and George, led by the same young man who had taken Jalen’s luggage, brought an unsettled end to their discussion.

  Jalen jumped out of his seat and shook hands with George. He and his mom gave each other a big hug. Cat shook their hands and offered them chairs. His mom produced a plastic grocery bag with a box of Scribblers. “For you and Jalen,” she said.

  “Oh, thank you.” Cat peered into the bag and dug out two pops, giving them to Jalen.

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “Don’t eat mine while I put the rest of them in the freezer,” Cat teased before leaving.

  Jalen and his mom and George settled into the big lounge chairs, an awkward silence between them. He was relieved when Cat returned with her mom, who appeared in a robe and swimsuit that matched her dark hair, partly hidden by a wide-brimmed sun hat.

  Smiling at Jalen’s mom, Mrs. H said, “I remember you from the championship game last Sunday.” She introduced herself to George as Cat’s mom, Tory, her smile welcoming them both.

  George immediately started talking about “what a smashing country pile” Mrs. H had. Jalen expected her to get angry—he would have if George called his house a pile—but Mrs. H lapped it up like a kitten with a dish of milk.

  As Mrs. H and Jalen’s mom got talking, George took something from under his arm and placed it on the ground beside his chair. It appeared to be some kind of winter glove—orange and blue and black, folded in half, only with a web between the thumb and first finger.

  George saw Jalen looking, and he raised the foreign-looking glove in his hand. “Wicketkeeper.”

  “What?”

  George put it under his arm and gave Jalen a salute. “From my schoolboy days at Harrow. Before my growth spurt, I was rather short and played wicketkeeper on the cricket pitch. I thought maybe you and I could have a catch later on. With a baseball, of course. Not a cricket ball. That would be like playing catch with rocks,” he said jovially.

  “Oh.” Jalen stared at the brightly colored glove. “Sure.” He couldn’t tell if George was making fun of him or just having a good time.

  Mrs. H was sharing a laugh with Jalen’s mom.

  The adults made small talk while several waiters set up a serving table and loaded it with sandwiches, salads, and a wooden bowl filled with individual bags of chips.

  They chatted on and on about London and New York and the differences as well as the similarities of their two favorite cities. Cat pulled her chair partially into the sun and lay back as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Jalen sat rigidly upright, wearing his mirror sunglasses. His shaded eyes—but not his ears—followed the conversation. He was surprised to hear his name and realize they were all looking at him.

  44

  “SORRY.” JALEN SNAPPED TO WITH burning cheeks.

  His mother said, “George asked how you think your team will do this weekend.”

  “Oh. Sorry. The tournament is with the top sixteen teams in the country, so I don’t know.”

  “That sounds exciting.” George looked at Jalen’s mom. “I’m with you. We should go.”

  “But aren’t you singing?” Jalen asked.

  “New talent comes in for the weekend,” George said.

  “What George politely said is that I’m not a headliner.”

  “Not yet,” George put in.

  “I’m not a headliner yet, so I only play midweek in bigger clubs.”

  “Worse luck for the patrons, my dear, because there is no singer working today as fine as you.”

  “Well, that’s lucky for me,” Jalen said, thinking of the game.

  “You sure you want us?” Jalen’s mom asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” he said.

  His mom looked at George. “Let’s.”

  George pulled out his phone. “I’ll get our tickets. When is your first game?”

  “Friday at five o’clock.”

  George nodded.

  “Cat?” Mrs. H asked. “Want to take a trip to Tampa?”

  Cat sat up and removed her sunglasses. “Coach Allen said I could keep stats, you know. I didn’t in Boston because I was busy with JY, but he’s not holding that against me. He’s some change from Coach Gamble. Right, Jalen?”

  Everyone turned toward Jalen. “Right. He’s great.”

  Mrs. H took her phone from her robe pocket. “Tampa it is. What flights do you have, George? We may as well go down together.”

  They booked their flights and Mrs. H suggested lunch.

  Jalen was biting into a roast beef sandwich when JY appeared. The baseball legend wore aviator sunglasses, and his hair was gelled back. His face had the shadow of a beard. Jalen caught a whiff of some pleasant-smelling cologne.

  He jumped up and shook JY’s hand. Cat’s mom took ahold of JY’s arm and introduced him to George as James Yager. He shook hands, said to call him JY, and gave Jalen’s mom a kiss on the cheek.

  “There’s lunch,” Cat’s mom said.

  “Thanks. I ate.” JY sat down next to Jalen in the shade and looked at his watch. “I only have a few minutes, but I wanted to say good-bye. And show you the start of the beard I’ve always wanted to grow.”

  Jalen nodded, remembering that all Yankees had to be clean-shaven.

  “I don’t know if Jalen told you, but I’m a big fan,” George said.

  JY gave Jalen’s shoulder a friendly squeeze and nodded at the glove under George’s chair. “He didn’t. Cricket, right?”

  George lifted the glove. “Wicketkeeper. Right. The father of your baseball.”

  JY chuckled. “Abner Doubleday is the father of baseball.”

  George shook his head, exposing big, crooked teeth with his smile. “If you dig into your history, there are accounts of ‘base ball’ being played in England in the 1750s. America and England were still playing cricket matches back then.”

  “I suppose next you’ll tell me the Americans didn’t take Normandy in World War II.” JY was still chuckling.

  “You Yanks did a bang-up job on your two beaches, as we did on ours. But I’m sure you haven’t forgotten how long we Brits fought that terrible war before you joined in.” George’s face was dead serious.

  “Well, our two countries have a special relationship, don’t we?” JY’s smile looked as if it was pasted on. “How would you like me to sign your glove?”

  JY reached for it, but George pulled it back. “Thank you, but it’s already signed by Mark Boucher, the South African. Nine hundred and ninety-nine dismissals? No? Well, cricket’s not everyone’s game, is it?” he said with a broad grin.

  Jalen wanted to crawl under a rock.

  “Wait!” Cat said abruptly, offering a most welcome change of subject.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to startle everyone, but George, maybe you should get JY to sign your baseball?”

  George looked confused. Cat nodded at the glove.

  George’s face brightened and he unfolded the glove, revealing a brand-new baseball that he offered up to JY. “Quite right. That would be smashing.”

  “And smashing is a good thing?” JY asked.

  “Yes, a brilliant thing.”

  “I guess you could say that smashing a baseball is smashing.”

  Both men laughed as JY autographed the baseball.

  “So, we’ve come full circle.” JY turned his smile on Jalen. “The day I met you, you were stealing autographed baseballs, and the day we say good-bye, I’m autographing a baseball for free.”

  “I—” Jalen choked on his words.

  JY laughed and everyone joined in except Jalen, who was too flustered to do anything but sputter. He wanted to explain to his mom and George that he’d taken the balls only because there were so many of them lying around JY’s batting cage, and he only took the few he needed to pay the fee for his travel baseball team.

  “Don’t worry.” JY thumped Jalen on the back as he stood. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me. My lucky charm. Even t
hough the Yankees and I decided on an amicable divorce.” He seemed to wink at Mrs. H, but Jalen couldn’t swear to it. “You and your friends—hey, where’s Mr. Hot Sauce?”

  Jalen and Cat looked at each other, and Jalen said, “I think he’s working with his dad.”

  At the same time, Cat said, “Watching his sister.”

  “Well, you guys helped me out when I thought I needed some help. Now, on to the greener pastures of Georgia. A fresh start. Anytime you need Braves tickets…” JY bumped fists with everyone all around before giving Cat’s mom a big hug.

  “I’m rotten at good-byes,” JY said, turning away.

  “I’ll walk you to your car,” Cat’s mom said.

  They were walking toward the driveway when JY looked back and shouted, “Hey, Jalen! If it works out with your schedule, maybe you’ll come down to Atlanta sometime and call a few pitches! You can bring your friends! On me!”

  Jalen cupped his hands around his mouth. “You got it, JY!”

  “Just call his agent!” shouted Cat.

  As they disappeared down the path, JY’s laughter bubbled up into the trees, only to be lost in the whisper of their abundant leaves.

  * * *

  “Wow,” Jalen said, after a minute of silence. “That happened so fast.”

  “Most pro ballplayers move around,” said Cat.

  “He was such a big part of the Yankees,” Jalen said.

  “Only not Jeffrey Foxx’s Yankees,” Cat said.

  “Foxx is a rat.” Jalen opened a bag of chips. “Still, JY is a lot less broken up about it than I would have thought.”

  Cat’s mom came back wearing a dark pair of sunglasses. As they finished eating, George asked Jalen, “How about a catch?”

  In an easy voice, Jalen’s mom asked, “Is there somewhere I can change into my swimsuit?”

  “Let me show you.” Mrs. H led the way to the cabana. George removed his blazer and rolled up his sleeves. Jalen walked over to a flat patch of grass.

  “So, what we do in baseball when we have a catch is make it hard on each other, ugly ground balls, pop flies, line drives.” Jalen didn’t plan on making it easy for the old man. “You field it, then you zip it to the other guy. He zips it back, and then you switch.”

  “And what’s a zip?” George asked, rolling his sleeves even tighter.

  “You know, you put some heat on it. Some hot sauce.” Jalen paused. “You throw it hard and fast. Here, toss me the ball and I’ll show you.”

  “Brilliant.” George tossed the ball underhand.

  “Ready?” asked Jalen as he tossed the ball up and caught it, trying not to smirk at George’s innocent smile.

  Jalen rifled the ball at George.

  He snapped it up and zipped it back in one easy motion. The ball popped when it hit the meaty part of Jalen’s hand. It stung.

  “Nice. Ready?” Jalen reared back and fired a nasty grounder that took a double hop.

  George snatched it and threw it back like a pro. This time Jalen was careful to catch the ball in the webbing of his glove.

  When it was Jalen’s turn, George sent the ball flying skyward so that it shrank to a speck before dropping twenty feet to Jalen’s left. He didn’t get exactly under it and had to dive in the grass to save it.

  “Blinding!” shouted George. “A most excellent save.”

  “I play second base,” Jalen said, firing the ball back to George, “so I don’t see pop flies like that.”

  “It was well-played, nonetheless.” George returned the ball and braced his hands on his bent knees, apparently ready for anything.

  They played for a good half hour before Jalen ran inside to retrieve his speed hitter and show George. Jalen gave him a demonstration that sounded like a gun range, snapping the stick and making it look easy before giving George a try.

  “Now, you know in cricket we use a paddle and we hold it like this.” George turned the stick so it pointed straight down. “A cricket bowler, unlike a baseball pitcher, is required to bounce the ball before it reaches the batter.” He swung up, like a baseball swing turned ninety degrees.

  “How do you hit it like that?” Jalen asked.

  “The same way you hit it like this.” George brought the stick back over his shoulder like a baseball player and swung for the stars.

  Nothing.

  Jalen reached for the stick. “You—”

  “Wait, wait, wait!” George pulled the stick out of Jalen’s reach and took a giant swing.

  Nothing.

  He swung again.

  Nothing.

  Again.

  Nada.

  The frustrated look on George’s face was too much for Jalen, and he burst out laughing.

  George raised the stick over his head like a club.

  Jalen kept laughing.

  45

  THE STICK CAME DOWN IN an arc.

  Like a pendulum, it kept going through the bottom of the arc and came back up and through, like finishing a golf swing.

  POP!

  “Well, you got it that way. Is that the way you swing a cricket paddle?”

  “Bat,” George replied. “It’s a cricket bat.” He studied the stick intently. “So, it’s in the wrists, is it?”

  “And the speed. You need both.” Because Jalen felt bad about laughing at George, he decided to share his secret. “What I do is I visualize my swing, every time, right before I take it.”

  Jalen took the stick and stood in his batter’s stance. He gazed at the distant hills between the trees. “What I’m seeing is myself swinging and hitting the biggest prize in the game.”

  Jalen swung and the stick popped.

  “A home run,” said George.

  “Nope.” Jalen handed back the stick. “Bigger, a game-winning grand slam.”

  “Grand slam. Quite right. Gives your mates four rib eye steaks with one mighty blow.”

  Jalen looked at George, wondering again if he was making fun or simply knew a lot more than he let on.

  “Four rib eyes in one swing. You got it exactly.”

  * * *

  George tried a few more times before giving up the stick to Jalen. Jalen hit twenty more imaginary grand slams and then shut it down so he could spend some time with his mom. He’d never been much for sitting in the sun, but there she lay, right next to Cat and her mom, soaking it in. Jalen took the lounge chair next to his mom and adjusted it so he was mostly in the shade. George sat down, also in the shade, with his phone.

  Jalen’s mom raised up on her elbows. “You two looked like you were having fun.”

  George looked up. “I have a new appreciation for grand-slam home runs.”

  “You’ve got a great glove, even if it isn’t made of leather. That’s for sure.”

  “Actually, it is leather and composite. I suppose the flash colors are off-putting.”

  “That’s for sure,” Jalen said, and slouched back in his chair.

  His mom reached out and took hold of his hand. He looked around, embarrassed, until he realized no one was paying attention, not even George.

  He gave her hand a squeeze. “Mom, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I was sorry to hear about your mom and dad, you know, dying in a car crash.”

  She squeezed his fingers tight, sat up, and removed her sunglasses. He thought she might cry, but instead she took a deep breath through her nose and cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

  She fell silent and sat back. He wished he could hear what she was thinking.

  “We lost touch over the years. That made it even worse. You always think there’ll be time to say everything you need to say. Then you get a phone call in the middle of the night.”

  Jalen felt bad that he’d brought it up. “That’s how Emery found you. Their names were on your wedding license and the accident was in the paper.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “My father gave me a toy doctor’s kit when I was around eight. It was the only gift I ever got outside Christmas or my birthday. I got straight As i
n high school and they began to call me Dr. Johnson at home, but the church choir director—heck, the whole congregation—said I had genuine musical talent.”

  She looked out over the wooded hills and spoke in barely a whisper. “My grandmother was so cold. She was just relentlessly angry that her brother had been killed by Italian soldiers in World War II. And because she lived with my folks, it was very ugly. It’s hard to believe she could be so bitter after so long.”

  George came over and spoke bluffly. “Nonsense, Lizzie, my dear! Time is like a mountain river at flood. An ancestor of mine was cheated out of a rather ripping country house in 1684. Cheated at cards, don’tcha know!… Well, the upshot is that we don’t acknowledge the cheater’s descendants to this very day. Family cuts them dead at court do’s.”

  Cat’s mom perked up. “Court? Do you mean the queen’s court?”

  “Yes, Tory, he does. My George is actually Lord—”Jalen’s mom began.

  George cut her off by touching her lips ever so slightly.

  “Elizabeth, I don’t use a title at home, so I most certainly won’t use it here. I’m just plain old doddering George.”

  Jalen wasn’t even taken aback by George’s speech. He was determined to say what he felt.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, talking directly to his mom. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I hurt you.”

  She held up her hand to stop him. “No, of course you didn’t. You have every right to, anyway. And then there’s me.”

  She bit her lip, and her body tightened. “I’ve been gone most of your life, and you had to use your ‘genius’ money to find me. Now here I am, with no invitation and no right to break into your life, hoping to be welcomed.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Jalen said. “Welcome to my life.”

  She choked back a sound, half a sob and half a laugh.

  Jalen realized they’d stopped holding hands. He sat up and turned to face her on his lounge chair to see her better. “Do you ever regret not becoming a doctor?”

  She thought deeply before locking on his eyes. “Five years ago, I released a single: ‘Steel Whisper.’ It went to number one in Amsterdam in a week, and boy, we knew it was gonna catch fire in Europe, Athens, Rome, Berlin, then Paris and London. After that, George just knew we’d sign a big deal with an American label. I was gonna be as big as Adele. We celebrated for three days like we’d won a five-hundred-million-dollar Powerball.”