by Nikki Duvall
J.D. slid into a set of broken in batting gloves, grabbed his favorite wooden bat and headed for the on deck circle. The goggles Doc Smothers insisted he wear were fogging up in the high humidity. He pulled them down and let them hang around his neck, allowing him a clear view of Franklin at bat. Franklin wasted no time, taking a slug at the first pitch from Carter and sending it deep along the third base warning track. The crowd’s excitement rose, then fell as they watched the ball turn foul. Carter delivered the next pitch low and tight. Franklin let it go by.
“Straighten it out this time, Franklin!” yelled Talmey from the dugout.
Franklin took that advice, lopping the next ball over the shortstop’s head and crossing first base without incident.
It was J.D.’s turn to shine. He pulled his goggles up around his eyes and sunk in close to home plate. His vision was surprisingly clear. He turned his head a little more toward the pitcher’s mound, allowing his right eye a better view. Carter smirked as if to say easy out.
“Nice shiner, Shaw,” said the catcher, signaling a series of finger combinations to Carter. “Hit it again and that eye might drop out of your head.”
The first pitch arrived low and inside, forcing J.D. to jump back slightly to avoid being hit. The crowd booed.
“Send it outa the park, Shaw!” someone yelled behind him.
J.D. tapped his shoes with his bat and took a deep breath. Had he turned his head at the last minute? Was he protecting his eye without realizing it? Everybody knew the adage once bitten twice shy. Had he suddenly turned shy? He watched the third base coach signal instructions. Carter wound up and rocketed a fastball across the plate. J.D. swung and missed.
“Strike!” the umpire called. The crowd moaned.
J.D. stepped out of the batter’s box and looked to the third base coach. Had he lost his mojo? Was this the end to a short career? He thought of his father lying on the gurney in the E.R. that fateful day, of Faye’s sun stained face, of the wind swept red soiled plains of Oklahoma and the smell of the cotton fields after a rain. “He’s come so far,” an old teacher had once said about him. Maybe far wasn’t where he needed to be.
The third base coach gave more signs, this time advising J.D. to wait for the next pitch. J.D. rolled his shoulders and stepped back to the plate. Carter wrapped his fingers around the ball for another fastball and J.D. saw opportunity in the air. He connected in the sweet spot and in another few seconds the ball slammed into the left field fence and rolled off as J.D. sailed into second on a stand up double. Franklin stuck to third. The crowd went wild.
“You can look now, Halee,” Bobby said with a grin.
Halee uncovered her eyes and blew out the breath she’s been holding since J.D.’s first pitch. Gus shook his head. “You’re gonna have to work on that, Honey.”
J.D. played with the Velcro on his batting gloves and watched the third base coach. “You think that shiner’s pretty,” said the Hawks second baseman, “just see what happens if you try and steal third.”
“You’re soundin’ a little desperate, Trenton,” said J.D.
Favier showboated up to the plate, rap music blaring to announce his arrival. He adjusted his gloves, set his helmet tighter on his head, and crouched down for the first pitch. J.D. angled himself off second base in an effort to distract Carter. Franklin did the same. Favier half-heartedly tapped on the ball, allowing an easy out at first. J.D. and Franklin stayed on base.
“C’mon, Simone!” Bobby yelled from the crowd. “Don’t leave our boys stranded!”
Simone strolled up to the plate and sized up the situation. Pacing a little to the left, then a little to the right, he made Carter wait. Then with exceptional dramatic flair, he pointed his bat toward right field. The crowd screamed with laughter and thumped their seats in an escalating rhythm. Carter painted on a mean face and checked runners. Simone stepped out. The ump called time. J.D. grinned from second base, suddenly confident that the Federals would take it all home tonight. Maybe the Hawks brought just as much talent as the Federals to this Series. Fans would no doubt debate that for years to come. But there was a certain confidence to the Federals that no team could match and tonight that confidence had peaked. More than ever, this team was in charge of the show, and the show was going to be one New York would never forget.
Simone dug his heels into the dirt and hung his body over home plate. Carter turned his fingers to line up a slider. Simone watched the ball sail past and into the catcher’s glove.
“Strike!” called the ump.
“Very bad call, Ump,” said Simone in a quiet voice. “Very bad. Simone did not like that pitch.”
The catcher settled in for the next pitch and so did Simone. Again he watched the ball slide by and the ump repeated his strike call. Simone simply shook his head and looked thoughtfully at the scoreboard. After a full minute, he re-engaged, hunkering down and staring intently as Carter wound up and hurled a fastball in his direction.
Simone’s bat hit leather, driving the ball up and over the heads of the Hawks and into the seventeenth row of the bleachers. Firecrackers exploded as three Federals stepped on home plate. J.D. delivered high fives to a long row of his team mates, grabbed a cold water and headed for the bench, grinning from ear to ear.
“Jonathan Dillon Shaw?” asked a man in a trench coat just as he was settling in.
“That’s right.”
The man handed him an envelope. “I’m here to serve you papers. You need to appear in court first thing Monday morning. You’re being sued by the Federals organization.”
J.D.’s grin faded. “There must be some kind of mistake.”
“No mistake. It’s all in the packet,” said the man.
“What’s this about?”
“I just serve the summons,” said the man. He fixed his hat back on his head and turned to go. “Nice hit, by the way.”
“Shaw! Inning’s over. Get out on the field!”
J.D. tucked the envelope inside his batting helmet and slid it on the shelf, then grabbed his hat and glove and headed for centerfield. Simone came running out behind him. “Don’t forget these,” he said, tossing J.D. his goggles. “What you look so bummed out for? We just about to clinch the Series, man.”
“Not so fast, my friend. We got eight more innings.”
“What kind of spirit be that?” Simone asked, shaking his head.
The Hawks went down one two three with no action in the outfield. J.D. raced back to the dugout, extracted the envelope, and read the first page, then hurled his glove at the wall in disgust. Smothers came up behind him. “Bad news?”
“Pryor’s suing me for contract fraud.”
Smothers busted out laughing. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” said Favier.
A small crowd formed. Franklin read the cover sheet of the summons and shook his head. “Who’s next? You bust your balls for these people and this is how they treat you.”
“Don’t let those little boy twins of yours play ball, Franklin,” said Favier.
“You don’t have to take this shit,” said Jasper. “You’re gonna have a dozen ball clubs begging you to wear your jersey when we win this pennant.”
Simone stared at J.D. thoughtfully. “It is for a reason.”
“What are you talking about?” asked J.D.
“The shoulder, the eye, now the legal trouble. It makes you think.”
“About what?”
“About the future. About what is most important.”
“I already know what’s important,” said J.D.
“But do you choose it?”
“Inning’s over,” called Morrison. “Get back out there.”
J.D. stared at Simone another moment, then grabbed his bat and helmet and headed for the field.
~THIRTY-THREE~
“I did a terrible thing.”
Halee moved away from the crowd of exuberant Federals fans and turned up the volume on her cell pho
ne. It was already the bottom of the sixth inning and Jack was nowhere in sight. Their presentation was just moments away and they hadn’t had a chance to rehearse. Halee felt her stomach tighten. She reminded herself to stay calm.
“What did you do, Faye? What’s wrong?”
“I bought the ranch.”
“What ranch?”
“Hank’s ranch. I bought it for the taxes.”
Halee dropped her jaw and started to giggle. “You bought Hank’s ranch?”
“Right out from under him.”
“I didn’t know you wanted it.”
“I didn’t either till Carly Gershall told me about Hank losing the ranch on account of delinquent taxes and how some New York woman had an offer in and I just lost my wits and before you know it I was writin’ the check.”
“Thanks fantastic, Faye!” cried Halee. “Does J.D. know?”
“I can’t tell him. I’m afraid he’ll be upset with me.”
“Why would he be upset?”
“I used up pert near all the money he’s ever sent me. He was expecting me to use that for other things.”
“I can’t think of anything better to spend it on, Faye. J.D. is going to be over the moon!”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” Halee heard the crowd cheer the end of the sixth inning and glanced around one more time for Jack. “I have to go, Faye.”
“Halee? Will you tell J.D. for me?”
“Sure,” said Halee, heading for the field. “I’ll call you later tonight. And Faye? Congratulations!” She disconnected and slid her cell phone into her raincoat pocket. Taking a deep breath, she read through her lines one more time, then headed to the pitcher’s mound as the Federals announcer prepped the crowd for her presentation.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, please direct your attention to the pitcher’s mound and Halee McCarthy representing Federals Charities,” said the announcer. “Halee will be followed by a special presentation by J.D. Shaw.”
All aisle traffic stopped at the mention of J.D’s name. Halee fumbled with her script, sorting through the three pages and trying to arrange them in order but getting more and more mixed up by the minute. She hated public speaking. Where was Jack? She’d just spent the afternoon with him on his plane and he hadn’t said a word about missing tonight. He and Bobby had stayed behind at the airport while she and J.D. were escorted by NYPD to the game. She hoped everything was alright.
She took a big calming breath, leaned into the microphone, and began her speech. “One out of five adults in New York read below a third grade level. Federals Charities is determined to cut that number in half.” Her voice was shaking. No one was listening, she could tell. She stood a little taller, leaned back in and continued. “One dollar from each of your tickets tonight will go toward literacy activities in New York and together make a big difference in thousands of lives.”
A general buzz travelled through the stands followed by a wave of claps and whistles. Halee looked up and smiled as J.D. approached the microphone looking dirty and tired and very, very happy. She suddenly felt much calmer. J.D. was as comfortable with a crowd of thousands as he was in a room of a dozen people. His confidence was contagious. He removed his ball cap and waved it at the sea of black and gold jerseys, then leaned in and kissed her on her damp cheek. “You’re doing good,” he assured her. “Let me give it a try.” He took the script from Halee’s shaking hands and leaned toward the microphone. “Hello, Everybody. I want you to meet Halee McCarthy.”
The crowd roared. J.D. wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.
“I want you to know her because Halee is a very special person. Halee spends most of her time helping poor people read. When she’s not doing that, she’s raising money to make sure people get a chance at achieving their full potential. Halee’s a true champion.”
The crowd clapped and whistled.
“I met Halee about a year and a half back and I ain’t never been able to get her off my mind.”
A couple of guys catcalled from the third base side. “She’s hot, J.D.!” somebody shouted. A murmur flowed through the crowd as the anticipation began to build.
Halee’s heart picked up its pace. “J.D.? Honey?” she said softly. “What are you doing?”
“Now y’all know I got a reputation,” said J.D., taking Halee’s hand and holding tight. “Too many women and too many parties. Ain’t a day goes by, the papers don’t print me in a picture with a posse of fun lovin’ people.”
The crowd laughed along with J.D. Halee’s throat tightened. What had happened to the script? What was J.D. doing on the pitcher’s mound with her?
“But those days are over, Ladies.” J.D. turned toward Halee and took both her hands. “Halee here’s stolen my heart.” J.D. dropped to one knee and pressed his lips to Halee’s hand. The crowd gasped in unison and got very quiet. Halee thought she could hear women crying.
“Halee McCarthy, I know I ain’t good enough for ya.”
“Oh my God!” screamed a woman near first base.
Halee’s knees started to shake and her lower lip quivered.
“But I’m prayin’ you feel the same way I do. I can’t live without you, Baby. Tell me you love me, Halee. Tell me you’ll marry me and make me the happiest man in the world.”
Halee opened her mouth but no words came out. Deep, raw emotion was choking off any response. She dropped to both knees in front of the man she loved and fell into his kiss.
The crowd went wild. She said yes!!! flashed across every scoreboard. Fireworks blasted through the back of the outfield billboard.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” said Don from the announcer’s booth. “That’s better than a grand slam at the World Series. Let’s hear a round of applause congratulating the happy couple.”
Halee began to giggle in J.D.’s arms. She leaned into his strong chest and closed her eyes, hoping to capture this moment for a lifetime. She felt his arms around her, sheltering her from all her troubles, all the ones present and all the ones to come. Three months ago she’d been sure she would have to travel through this lifetime alone. Now the man of her dreams was offering to make that journey beside her. Cinderella wasn’t a fairy tale after all.
Bobby gently brushed away the tears flowing down Rita’s red cheeks and leaned in to kiss her. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to make it a double wedding,” he said, taking her hand in his.
“Omigod!” Rita cried, pressing her face into his chest. “I thought you’d never ask!”
~THIRTY-FOUR~
J.D. crouched down in the batter’s box, staring down the Hawk’s relief pitcher. It was the bottom of the ninth inning and the Hawks had managed to tie the game in the eighth, raising the possibility that the Federals would have to endure one more game in this Series in their attempt to clinch the title. The Feds had racked up two outs. Franklin was staring at J.D. from third base with a look that said if you blow this and separate me from my twins one more night I’ll kick your ass. Favier was swinging dramatically at the air in the on deck circle as if warming up for the longest home run on record. Simone was pacing in the dugout with every other player. Smothers hung his lanky body from the fence, chewing on a big wad of gum and watching with a poker face, no doubt wondering whether he’d have a job in the morning. J.D. knew all he needed was a base hit to buy the ranch where he’d been born and start his new life with Halee.
No pressure. None at all.
He still couldn’t believe she’d said yes. After the night on Sam’s boat, the dance at Fat Jimmy’s, that morning in the shower…
A fast ball screamed past him.
“Strike!”
“Quit your daydreaming,” J.D. mumbled to himself.
“I can’t go another inning,” said Callahan to Smothers. “J.D. needs to hit this one out of the park or I’m gonna drop to my knees and cry like a baby.”
“No, he doesn’t,” said Smothers. “He just needs to get it over the shortstop’s head.”
J.D. regrouped and sunk down into his signature stance. “Focus,” he whispered. The stadium noise dimmed as J.D. watched the pitcher twist the ball between his long thin fingers and settle his hand into his glove. The pitcher glanced at Franklin one last time, then kicked his leg up and hurled his body forward, delivering the slider that would make history.
J.D.’s bat met the ball with a crack that broke the silence. Suddenly the crowd was on its feet and shouting at ten decibels as J.D. ran with all he had toward first base, snorting like a race horse and crossing the bag unchallenged. He turned in time to watch Franklin slide across home plate, crashing linebacker fashion into the catcher. The catcher dropped the ball. The crowd erupted.
“The Federals win the Series!” cried Don Petrone from the announcer’s booth. “The Federals win the Series!”
In another minute Callahan and Simone had J.D. on their shoulders, parading him around while they screamed like bloodthirsty warriors. Flashes of colored lights glittered above them as canons shot fireworks into the night sky. The whole team danced and hugged, pouring champagne over each other’s heads and circling the field with the Federals flag.
Bobby grabbed Rita and sank into a five minute kiss while Cameron and Stephen did the same. Uncle Gus tossed Ty overhead until the baby giggled so hard he thought he might choke, then handed him off to Halee, gave her a quick hug, and headed for the field. “Where are you going?” she asked. He stared a moment at her tear soaked face and just grinned. “I don’t know,” he said like a teenager who’d just been kissed. “I just can’t stand still. Congratulations, Honey!”
In the owner’s box, Victoria Pryor stared down onto the field in disbelief. At her side, Art Pryor picked up his cell phone and tapped out a number. “Goodwin,” he murmured into the phone, “cancel the lawsuit against Shaw. I want a five year contract. I don’t care how much as long as you stay under 20 million.” He disconnected and studied his wife, still speechless in the chair next to his. “Look happy, Victoria,” he said. “The endorsements alone will cover anything we pay Shaw and I’ll still have plenty left over for alimony.”