A Season of Daring Greatly

by Ellen Emerson White

  “I have to get out of here,” she said, quietly, to Lauren, after exchanging small talk with yet another well-wisher she barely knew. “Cover for me?”

  Lauren nodded. “You’re on a call with the White House.”

  Hilariously, the White House had called, earlier—and Theo laughed and took a message, instead of going to find her. They had called back, of course, and she had a short, awkward conversation with the freakin’ President—and felt like an inarticulate poseur the entire time.

  “Exactly,” Jill said.

  It turned out to be pretty easy to mumble about needing “to go get something” to anyone who asked, and then, slip away.

  She ended up in Theo’s darkened room. Since Maggie had—very slowly—followed her upstairs, and stretched out on the rug, Jill sat on the floor next to her. Which felt like a good spot, anyway, since she would be out of immediate view, and could have a little privacy. It would be nice, for a few minutes, to be alone, and quiet, and unobtrusive. There was something extremely exhausting about a “Me! Me! Me!” day.

  She patted Maggie for a while, and then rested her hand on her back, while she closed her eyes and took slow, deep breaths. If a party in her own house seemed like too much exposure, what was professional baseball going to be like? Maybe her mother was right, and this whole thing really was a terrible idea. Maybe she should just go to college, like a normal person.

  Which would probably come as a rude shock to the Pittsburgh Pirates.

  She had almost twenty minutes by herself before Theo showed up.

  “Hey,” he said. “You all right? Mom wanted me to see if you were okay.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Just taking a break.”

  “Okay, but you’re not hiding in your room,” Theo said.

  She shrugged. “First place they’d look.”

  “Well, yeah,” he said. “First place I looked.” He sat on the floor, too, leaning back against his bureau.

  Maggie thumped her tail at him, but didn’t get up, and Jill kept patting her.

  “You blew off the President,” she said. “Were you really being a flake?”

  He grinned at her. “Not so much.”

  Which was what she had suspected. Because he was too damn smart to do anything that dumb.

  “A little humility here and there is good for world leaders,” he said. “Keeps them in touch with their humanity.”

  No doubt.

  They sat there.

  “What’s up?” he asked. “Big night for you.”

  Yup. Too big. Jill nodded.

  “And you pretty much like everyone here,” he said.

  Also true. In fact, she loved more than a few of them.

  “So, why are you up here crying?” he asked.

  “I’m not crying,” she said.

  He just looked at her.

  Okay, maybe a little. And slightly more so, since he had come into the room. “We’re going to lose Maggie soon,” she said.

  Theo nodded.

  “And I’m not going to be able to say good-bye,” she said. “I’m going to leave, and the next time I come home, she’ll just be gone.”

  He nodded. “Every time I go back to school, I feel that way.”

  They sat there for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of loud conversations and celebrating downstairs.

  “Dad should be here,” she said finally.

  “Dad should always be here,” Theo said.

  That never stopped being true, but tonight just felt more—significant.

  “When I got the National Merit Scholarship, I kept thinking, I wish he knew about this,” Theo said. “And MIT, and the robotics job, and getting my driver’s license, and everything else that’s happened.”

  Yeah, and Stanford, and her scholarship. And getting into Brown, and Columbia, and Middlebury, and Tufts. And winning the state basketball championship.

  And being drafted in the third round by a Major League Baseball team.

  She noticed that she had pulled her father’s dog tag out of her shirt and was toying with it—and that Theo was doing exactly the same thing with his dog tag, since there had been two, and her mother had given each of them one to wear—which they both did, always. And holding it was a habit so ingrained that she generally forgot that she was doing it.

  “Think it ever goes away?” she asked.

  Theo shook his head. “No.”

  She didn’t, either.

  CHAPTER 5

  The next couple of days were hectic, and she got almost no sleep. The Pirates flew her down to Pittsburgh, along with her mother and her Aunt Karen—who was a lawyer. Starting in the morning, she was supposed to have a comprehensive physical, meet a bunch of people in the front office, and get started on contract negotiations. Agents were still calling constantly—but, for now, it was convenient to have a high-powered attorney in the family. As ever, the agents were trying too damn hard to woo her, which wasn’t terribly enticing.

  The team sent a town car to meet them at the airport, and they were given a suite at the Fairmont, with a connecting room for her aunt.

  The hotel was exceedingly upscale, and it was the first time Jill had stayed in any suite, forget one with floor-to-ceiling windows, and a totally awesome view of the ballpark across the river. The Pirates had a large fruit basket, champagne, and fresh flowers waiting for them, and the hotel had added a batch of fresh cookies, some chocolate-covered strawberries, and a lot of other stuff with too many calories. They had even provided several sets of workout garb, with the hotel logo on them.

  There was a telescope set up by one of the windows, and she angled it to focus directly on PNC Park, even though the team was on the road, so it wasn’t all lit up.

  “Pretty swanky,” she said.

  Her mother took one of the cookies out of the basket, tasted it, and nodded her approval. “I’d imagine that they’re trying to impress us.”

  “It’s working,” Jill said, and helped herself to a cookie, too.

  They were all pretty wired—and hungry—and it was past nine, so they ended up ordering room service and watching a movie in their—fancy—living room.

  “I think we made a mistake,” her aunt said to her mother, as they polished off most of the chocolate-covered strawberries, “when neither of us ever learned how to pitch.”

  Her mother nodded. “Clearly.”

  Well, they both had the height for it. “Look, there’s exercise gear for all of us,” Jill said, pointing at the neatly folded pile of workout clothes. “You guys could get started, first thing tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s going to happen,” her aunt said, and laughed.

  “They look very comfortable, though,” her mother said thoughtfully. “They’ll be perfect for Netflix.”

  “Ideal,” her aunt said.

  Jill wasn’t sure whether to laugh with them, or at them.

  Aunt Karen was a partner at a high-end law firm in New York, primarily working in trademark, copyright, advertising and brand management, with a sub-specialty in intellectual property litigation. Although, in Jill’s opinion, she was way more fun than that made her sound. But, it was a reasonable fit for negotiating a baseball contract, and she had some law school friend who was a sports attorney, with whom she had been consulting for the past couple of days.

  “How far above slot do you really want me to negotiate?” her aunt asked, once the movie was over.

  Jill shook her head. “Not very. Or maybe even at all. I don’t want the other players resenting me, if I get more than my share of the bonus pool.” And—although it had only slightly appeased her mother—Major League Baseball had a rock-solid college scholarship plan, which would reimburse her for tuition and living expenses, as long as she started taking classes within two years of retiring or getting released.

  Which felt like a thousand years down the road.

  She hoped.

  “As your attorney, I just want to point out that the organization is going to make a great
deal of money on merchandising because of you, so there’s a limit to how much I’m going to be willing to leave on the table,” Aunt Karen said. “And you may want to reconsider turning down all of the endorsement offers we have coming in.”

  “Punting endorsement offers,” Jill said. “I don’t want to cash in, before I actually do anything.”

  Her aunt smiled, which made her look much younger than she normally did in her chic power suits, with her hair up. “I feel like a traitor to my profession—but, okay, I’ll take it under advisement.”

  Once the lights were out, and she was lying in the unfamiliar queen-sized bed, Jill found it impossible to sleep. She decided to read on her iPad for a few minutes, until she was sleepy—but soon, it was two in the morning, and then, three in the morning, and she began worrying about looking tired and sluggish, and making a really bad impression on everyone.

  At some point, she finally dozed off a little, but was wide-awake again by six-thirty.

  So, she swapped her URI T-shirt for some gym clothes and her running shoes, tucked a resistance band into the pocket of her shorts, left her mother a note, drank a glass of water, and went off to find the hotel’s fitness center.

  Just as she was heading in, a sweat-drenched guy about her age was coming out, and it wasn’t until he was already gone that it occurred to her that he was almost certainly one of her fellow draft picks. And although there were a fair number of businesspeople in the gym, she immediately noticed a muscular young brown-haired guy doing lat pulldowns, and was pretty sure that he was the Competitive Balance Round pick. He seemed to recognize her, too, but they didn’t do anything other than nod in a friendly way.

  She got on a bike for about ten minutes, pedaling at a moderate rate, just to warm up. Then, she spent about fifteen minutes on some gentle static and dynamic stretching, using a mat, a foam roller, and her resistance band. Since she was tired—and tense—she took it easy, just trying to get her blood moving, and her heart rate steady. The brown-haired guy was working out hard, but she focused on her own plan, instead of giving in to the temptation to be a little competitive. Although it was more of a challenge, when the tall, swaggering first-round pick showed up, frowned at her, and started an ostentatiously intense workout of his own.

  A few of the other people using the fitness center clearly recognized her, but only two of them approached to congratulate her on being drafted, and she thanked them, and then went back to stretching. She saw some surreptitious cell phone photos being taken, and hoped they wouldn’t be too unflattering.

  After the stretching session, she got back on one of the bikes, and did twenty-five minutes of intervals, with a five minute cooldown. A trainer brought her a fluffy white towel and offered her a choice between cold water with fresh lemon or cucumber slices—which made her feel a little silly.

  “Do you have celery water?” she asked.

  He looked startled for a second, but then recovered himself. “Of course. I’ll have some sent up.”

  Wow, this hotel must have a lot of high-maintenance guests. “I’m kidding,” she said quickly. “Lemon is fine, but thank you.” She had to have a bunch of medical exams later, and wasn’t supposed to eat anything, but she was allowed to have water, at least.

  When she got back to the suite, her mother was drinking coffee and reading the morning papers—big surprise—and her aunt was on the phone, having what sounded like a somewhat contentious business conversation.

  “I don’t want to be a lawyer,” Jill said.

  Her mother nodded. “Thank heavens for small mercies.”

  “They offered me lemon- or cucumber-flavored water,” Jill said.

  “Snazzy,” her mother said.

  And how. “I like the idea of having plenty of money, but I hate the idea of being rich,” Jill said.

  Her mother laughed. “That sounds about right.”

  Since she wasn’t allowed to have breakfast, her mother and aunt held off, too. Then, her aunt headed over to the stadium for a contract meeting, while she and her mother went to Allegheny General Hospital for her exams. They met a group of team doctors there, and she had a full physical, including blood work and drug testing, another eye exam, MRIs on her shoulder and elbow, and any one of a number of other tests. Her regular doctor at home had already sent the team her records, and she felt lucky as hell that her primary injuries had been a broken ankle when she fell while jumping off a rock formation down by the ocean when she was nine, and a broken nose in the tenth grade, when she took an jab to the face during a basketball game. So, there were no shoulder or elbow issues to frighten them.

  It was a relief when they told her that the records from her gynecologist would be fine, and that they didn’t need to repeat that exam. Although, apparently, they were going to check her hormones, to make sure her estrogen and testosterone were within normal gender limits. It really didn’t seem like any of their damn business that she was taking the Pill to regulate her period, because it was just easier as an athlete, but she confirmed it, when they asked.

  Which was all really too weird for words.

  She caught glimpses of the three guys she had seen working out, but none of them did anything more than exchange brief nods, since they were all busy having their X-rays and stress tests and so forth.

  The doctors finally kicked her loose in the early afternoon, and her mother got a recommendation for a nearby restaurant from one of the nurses. Italian food, low-key, and based upon the photos on the walls, it attracted a sports-friendly crowd. So, she shouldn’t have been surprised when she was recognized. There was a good-sized lunch crowd, but they were seated right away, and the owners came over to shake her hand.

  Almost before the chef had time to make it back to the kitchen, a basket of just-baked focaccia, seasoned olive oil, an order of mussels, a dish of what was described as greens and beans, and some homemade mozzarella were sent to their table.

  “It’s a treat,” her mother said, “to be dining with a celebrity.”

  “I didn’t expect people to figure it out so easily,” Jill said.

  Her mother’s smile was tense. “You’re on a lot of magazine covers lately.”

  Well, yeah, there was that. But, as celebrities went, she felt like pretty small potatoes. Tiny, little, hard-to-see potatoes.

  There was a lot more food than either of them felt like eating—complicated by the fact that quite a few of the other diners came over to say hello, and more than one of them asked her to pose for photos with them. So, there wasn’t much time to focus on the actual meal, even though it was delicious. She was also suddenly worried that someone might get terrible photos of her chewing, and put them online somewhere.

  When the waitress brought them the check, her mother reached for a credit card, looked inside the folder, and then sighed.

  “I was afraid of that,” she said. “They comped us.”

  “What, you mean, it was free?” Jill asked.

  Her mother nodded. “I’m going to go ahead and try to pay, and failing that, just overtip wildly, I guess.”

  They had been warned, during the NCAA recruiting period, not to accept any gifts from coaches or agents or equipment representatives—and Jill was surprised when she did get offered a lot of stuff. Tickets to sporting events, new cleats, gloves, various shirts and hats and sweatshirts, and some truly prime sports gear, which were all hard to resist. But, she had been careful never to take anything—even when she really wanted it.

  Before they left, they stopped to thank the owners profusely—and their waitress thanked her mother, since it was a hell of a good tip.

  “It was disturbing to watch you have all of those medical tests,” her mother said, in the cab on the way back to the hotel.

  Jill nodded. The hours at the hospital had made her feel very much like a piece of extremely expensive meat—but, at least it was better than being tested out in the open, at a huge football combine, like a big factory of body parts.

  Her mother looked at her
seriously. “I want you to do this because you genuinely want to play, not because—well, because you feel the weight of historical responsibility.”

  “Can’t both be true?” Jill asked.

  “I don’t know,” her mother said. “Can they?”

  She sure hoped so.

  They rode in silence for a moment, then her mother let out her breath.

  “I want you to do what’s right for you,” she said, “but I can’t pretend that I’m not afraid.”

  Jill glanced over. “And you think I’m not?”

  “Of what?” her mother asked. “Specifically.”

  Where to begin? “Whether I’ll really be good enough,” Jill said. Which might be her top concern. “How people are going to treat me—especially the team. I mean, you know what locker rooms are like.”

  “I don’t, actually,” her mother said. “But, I’ve always assumed the worst.”

  Okay, so maybe she should nip this one in the bud. “They’ll probably be fine, but—they think different things are funny,” Jill said. To put it mildly. Often, very gross things.

  Her mother looked worried. “I don’t want you to feel as though you have to hide things from me.”

  “I don’t want to feel as though your first reaction is going to be ‘Quit baseball!’ every time I tell you something,” Jill said.

  Her mother sighed. “So, it’s going to be challenging for both of us.”

  That was about the size of it, yeah.

  They were scheduled to go over to the stadium at four-thirty, to talk to people in the front office, and then attend a meet-and-greet cocktail party and buffet supper for high-ranked draft picks and their families. So, that gave them time to go back to the hotel and take it easy for about an hour, before heading over. Her aunt was already sitting at the big table in the suite, with her laptop and a bunch of paperwork.

  “How’s it going?” Jill asked.

  “Right now, I’m pushing for at least two,” her aunt said. “But, I think it’s going to end up going significantly higher than that.”

  Jill and her mother stared at her.

  “Two million?” her mother asked.