by Dana Mentink
“Field looks amazing, Lon.”
Lon did not smile, but Cal could see the flash of pride on his face. “Thank you very much, Mr. Crawford. My guys sure appreciated the pizza lunch you arranged for them.”
“Please call me Cal.” He shook Lon’s hand. “You deserve more than pizza.”
“Thank you, Mr. Crawford.”
Cal sighed and shook hands one more time. He’d known Lon for going on four years now and he suspected the man would never use his first name. They’d been able to sit and talk about mowers and Lon’s passion for his apple orchard at length, but here on the field, it was always Mr. Crawford. He clapped Lon on the back and left him to his radio.
Breathing in, he checked his body for tension or soreness and found there was none. He’d enjoyed the light workout in the Falcons’ training facility after he’d won approval from the team doc. Elation twirled through his gut as he headed toward home plate for their first full squad workout.
Julio Aguilera fell in next to him, grinning. “You got your groove back, Boots. Changeup was really breaking this morning.”
Cal hid his excitement. His “go to” pitch, the split finger changeup, had been right on the money, starting in the zone and dipping down toward the plate, seemingly defying the laws of physics. Even Ag had a hard time snaring it because of the violent break at the end. It was a pitch he could not control at the end of last season, a pitch that had cost them runs and ultimately the championship. “Yeah. Everything felt right, like it used to back when I started.”
Ag scratched his ferocious beard. “Could be the gals are good for you, man.”
“What gals?”
“You know, the dog and the blondie sitter. She’s a nice looking girl. Great smile.”
He didn’t answer, but quickened his steps. Ag trotted to keep apace.
“Hear she’s coming up. When?”
He offered a casual shrug. “Not sure.” Actually, he’d been wondering the same thing, checking his phone for texts about her progress. He’d even called once and gotten her voicemail.
No distractions, remember?
They were met on the field by the first baseman, Jean, and Tyler, their impossibly young second baseman. Kid hardly looked old enough to shave, undisguised eagerness written all over him. Cal used to be the young hotshot on the team. When had he been replaced in that category?
“Here’s another one,” Tyler said, laughing at his cell phone screen while Jean and Ag crowded in to see. “She’s at some diner. Hashtag is #Tippysighting. Aww man,” he said, laughing so hard Jean grabbed the phone from him. “Dog’s wearing those socks. That just kills me.”
“What are you talking about?” Cal swiped the phone from Jean. The picture was of Gina holding Tippy, surrounded by a group of diners all holding their dogs. Each and every dog was wearing baby socks and one proud owner of a white fuzzy mutt held a sign that said, “Go Falcons.”
“How…?” Cal started.
Tyler wiped his eyes. “Apparently, the owner of the diner has some sort of rescue group. He recognized your girl and Tippy and he called up his people. They started some sort of weird Tippy fan club.”
She’s not my girl, Cal wanted to say. He found he could only stare at the photo of Gina, a pink knit cap on her head which matched the flush on her cheeks and that smile. Oh, that smile. It surged through him, right to his heart with a feeling better than pitching a perfect game. He shook his head. Nothing was better than pitching a perfect game. His teammates would take him straight to the looney bin for even suggesting it.
Ag nudged him in the ribs. “Good for you, like I said.”
Tyler was still laughing as he pointed. “Freddie the Falcon’s gonna be mad, though, if Tippy steals his thunder.”
Freddy the Falcon was actually played by Harvey, whose last name Cal did not know. Harvey was in the wings, suiting up in his puffy Falcon costume. The guy looked peeved as he zipped up, but then again, wearing a polyester bird suit in Arizona and posing for pictures with twelve thousand fans could make a person cranky. Cal shuddered and offered Harvey a friendly thumbs-up.
Harvey did not return the gesture, stalking off to meet the fans who had begun to trickle in.
Cal fingered the glove tucked under his left arm, a yellow Mizuno with the basket weave webbing to prevent batters from seeing his grip on the ball. He got teased for the color, though he insisted every year on the same style. Though each season required a new glove, they were always yellow Mizunos in honor of the first professional glove Uncle Oscar had given him. He still had that glove in a drawer. He slid his fingers inside the supple leather, encountering something that shouldn’t be there.
Peering inside, he extracted a rolled-up piece of paper. It was a printed picture of him lying on his back, fist raised in the air after scoring his first beep ball run, Tippy pouncing on him to help celebrate. There was a note scrawled across the top in magic marker. Toppled by Tippy.
He looked up to see Tyler, Ag, and Jean laughing.
“You guys are hilarious, you know that?”
They broke into loud guffaws and he found himself chuckling, too.
“Man, Boots, your dog is getting better press time than you, dude,” Ag said.
“Not anymore,” Cal said. “I’m here to play ball. You three going to join in or find jobs at the local comedy club?”
They were still laughing as they lined up for a team photo. Making sure that none of the guys would see, Cal carefully folded the picture and stuck it back inside his glove.
Gina waved to the group of giggling teens gathered in front of the coffee shop. She sighed, knowing she and Tippy would be plastered all over the cyber universe in a matter of moments.
“I’m beginning to understand how Elvis must have felt.” Tippy lolled in the passenger seat, exhausted from greeting yet another round of fans. “Who would think a dog could reach such realms of stardom?”
Tippy answered with a wide yawn and an ear flap. Gina was tired, deservedly so. Tippy had accompanied her into the ladies’ room, carefully tied to the stall handle while Gina took care of business. That proved disastrous when Tippy grabbed the end of the toilet paper roll while Gina was washing her hands and away she dashed, out the door, festooning the dining area with arcs of fluttering white paper. Stopping the gleeful canine required the help of four kindhearted and highly amused patrons while the rest recorded it all on their iPhones.
Relieved to be finishing the last leg of the journey, Gina drove on.
She followed the directions Cal had given her and by evening they were in Scottsdale, checking into a pet-friendly hotel. She followed a beaming manager named Marg who opened the door to a luxury suite.
“Oh gosh,” Gina said. “We don’t need a king bed. It’s just me and Tippy.” She peered into the bathroom. “This thing is larger than my whole room in San Francisco.”
“Mr. Crawford insisted on our best.” She handed Gina a pink box.
Bemused, Gina opened it to find a frosted doughnut with rainbow sprinkles. “We’ve bought a fresh one every day, not knowing exactly when you’d arrive,” Marg said proudly. She also held up a bag of Cheetos. “And these, in case Tippy is being finicky. Mr. Crawford said he was concerned she might be.”
Gina was too floored to speak. Cal had thought to provide doughnuts for her and Cheetos for Tippy? A feeling both tickly and soft filled up her insides. How had she ever thought of him as heartless? She realized she was probably blushing madly.
“Wow. Well, thank you. I sure appreciate all the trouble you went to.”
“No trouble at all. You let us know if there’s anything we can get for you or Tippy. It sure is an honor to have a famous dog here and all. I saw her on Twitter, dragging that toilet paper all over the restaurant. I never laughed so hard in my life,” she said, wiping her eyes. She stopped near the door. “Um, do you think, I mean, I know it’s unprofessional, but would you mind if maybe I took a selfie with the two of you? My grandkids would just be over the moon.”
/>
“No problem.” Gina hoisted the tired dog and they took the picture.
When Marg was gone, she texted Cal. “Here in Arizona. Enjoying my doughnut. So sweet of you.”
He texted back immediately. “When are u coming?”
“Be there first thing tomorrow.”
“Glad.”
He was glad, and she realized that she was very glad, too. The light seemed to shine a little brighter now that she was in the same town as Cal, the spring breeze a bit more delicious. Glad, she decided, thanking God for their safe journey and for the spring training madness that lay ahead. Then she gave Tippy some water and a Cheeto and ate her doughnut, the perfect bedtime snack.
Fourteen
The park was abuzz with a BBQ Baseball Meet and Greet. Folks had shelled out a chunk of change to enjoy their burgers and hot dogs, clustered on blankets spread across the green. More than the food, what they wanted was an up close and personal with the players and coaches. As Cal looked on from the tunnel, he braced himself for the onslaught of fans. Freddy the Falcon, aka Harvey, was already hard at work, offering high-fives and photo opportunities to the youngsters.
Ag was working the crowd, accepting the adoration which he relished as much as his wife’s pork adobo. The gentle giant bent down on one knee and chatted it up with everyone from grandmas to fathers to the youngest toddlers.
Cal smiled, wishing he was as much at ease for the promo events. He’d never enjoyed the strange dance—people who felt they knew him so well, yet they struggled to make conversation once they were face to face. Really they just wanted pictures to provide proof of the encounter so he tried to accommodate, but he didn’t do it nearly as well as Ag. He scanned for Gina, checking his phone again. He was about to send another text when he heard an angry shout. Startled, he saw Freddy the Falcon sprinting down the first base line, inches ahead of a growling, snapping Tippy.
He blinked. Twice. The image in his retinas must be a hallucination. He’d almost convinced himself of it when Gina emerged, running behind, sundress flying and floppy hat clapped to her head with one hand.
“Tippy, noooooooo.”
Tippy was closing in on Freddy somewhere in foul territory when he tripped and fell flat on his beak, sending up an angry puff of dirt. Lon the groundskeeper was not going to be pleased with the mussing up of his field. Cal finally overcame his shock, running past the ogling crowd to help.
Tippy pounced on the fallen bird man, snarling and poking with her wet nose, tugging at the loose feathers on his churning ankles.
“Stop, Tippy,” Gina hollered, trying to grab her collar. “That is so not nice.”
Tippy ignored the command, wrestling with the fowl leg waving vigorously in front of her muzzle. She dove again, barking, this time at the other ankle.
“Tippy, get down,” Cal thundered.
Electrified, Tippy sat, one orange feather stuck to her lip, staring at Cal.
Gina looked from Cal to Tippy to Freddy. Without a word she scooped up the dog, plopped her in Cal’s arms, and tried to help the fallen falcon.
“Oh, sir. I’m terribly sorry.”
Harvey rolled on his back and ripped off his headpiece. “What is the matter with that dog?”
“I have no idea.” Gina tried to grab his elbow to help him up, but he shook her off.
Cal added his apology. “Really sorry, Harvey. I think the feathers freaked her out or something.”
“A dog like that should be destroyed,” he snapped, clambering to his feet.
“She’s not usually aggressive,” Gina said. “As a matter of fact, I’ve never seen her aggressive at all. She doesn’t even like her chew toys. I’m very sorry.”
“It won’t happen again. What can I do to make it up to you, man?” Cal said.
Freddy brushed the dust off his feathers. “You just keep that dog out of my way.” He donned his headpiece and marched back to the crowd.
Gina’s eyes were still round with horror. “I can’t believe that just happened.”
“Me neither,” Cal said.
“What if Tippy goes after a fan? A child?”
“Unless they’re wearing a bird suit, I think we’re safe.”
“It’s not funny, Cal.”
He tried to wipe off his smile. “You’re going to be right there all the time with Tippy. If she acts up, you can give her a timeout or ground her or something.”
She took off her hat, dejected. “Some dog sitter. Every time we set foot in a baseball arena something bad happens.”
He slung an arm around her and dropped a kiss on her temple. “It’s a ballpark, and don’t worry about it. No harm, no fowl,” he could not resist adding.
She was not amused. “I feel terrible.”
“These things happen.” He laughed. “Actually, things like this don’t happen unless Tippy’s around.”
“That’s not comforting.”
Though Cal was sorry for Freddy/Harvey’s embarrassment, he felt something else altogether, a mixture of amusement, delight, and something completely different. He gathered Gina in his arms, Tippy and all, and planted another kiss on the top of her head. “Welcome to spring training.”
She relaxed in his embrace. With a little sigh that thrilled right through him, she tucked her head under his chin. “How has it been going before Hurricane Tippy arrived?”
“Couldn’t be better,” he said. “First couple of days were perfect.”
Tippy wriggled to be put down, and Gina broke off the embrace, much to Cal’s disappointment.
“I’d better keep up with her.” Gina headed back to the gathering and he jogged to catch up.
“Pitching is good?” she said.
“Pitching is great.”
She gave him a thumbs-up. “We’re going to keep out of your way, I promise. No distractions if I can just keep her separated from the mascot. You don’t have any other people in animal costumes around, do you?”
“Not as far as I know.”
They rejoined the group and immediately a crowd formed around them, jostling for pictures. Harvey the Falcon put his wings on his hips in annoyance. Cal found he did not mind the press op quite as much with Gina and Tippy there. The nutty dog was her usual irrepressible self, unless Freddy the Falcon came near. Then she would curl her lip and snarl, to the delight of the crowd who took pictures to their hearts’ content.
Ag hustled over and kissed Gina’s hand, which made her laugh.
“So Tippy’s arrived to be our new mascot?”
“Oh no,” Gina hastened to say. “Just doing a few photos and then the dog and I are going home.”
“No rush,” Ag said, winking at her. “Why don’t you come to the clubhouse tonight? We’re just having a few laughs. Wives and kids will be there, so we won’t get too out of hand.”
“Well… ” Gina shot Cal a questioning glance.
He usually did not attend the family nights. It always made him melancholy to see the guys there with their ladies, babies and little kids milling around. But why not? Pitching was great today. No need to go over tapes for hours. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stop by for a while, especially with Gina there to charm the socks off everyone.
“Yeah. Let’s do that,” he said to her. “I mean, if you’re not too tired.”
“She’s not too tired,” Ag said. “Plenty of energy, right?”
Cal surveyed the line of people some twenty deep, patiently waiting to have their moment with Tippy the dog. “Maybe we should wait and ask her after she makes it through her first meet and greet.”
Gina straightened her shoulders and beamed a full kilowatt smile at the first kid in line. “No worries. This is way easier than trying to get them to sit still for a math lesson.”
Gina led Tippy to the front of the line and introduced herself.
Ag and Cal looked on.
“Kids would rather meet the dog than us, man,” Ag laughed.
“Given the choice, I would, too.” Ag punched him playfully in the arm.
/>
Second in line, a towheaded little kid, probably all of five years old and wearing a Falcons jersey, wiggled in anticipation. His father stroked his head indulgently. When the boy got to the front, he wrenched away from his father and threw his arms around Gina.
“Hi, Gina. I missed you,” he squealed.
She let out a cry and hugged him, smiling a mile wide. The father embraced her too, in a familiar way that didn’t set right with Cal. He edged closer.
“What are you doing here?” he heard Gina say.
“Matthew wanted to see you and you know we’re big Falcons fans,” the man said.
It must be Bill, the man who’d dumped Gina. Guy looked all right, genial and smiling, well dressed, but Cal knew he was a toad underneath. What was he up to, bringing his kid to visit?
As Gina sank to her knees to gush over the little boy, Bill’s gaze swiveled across the field and found Cal. He bobbed his chin in the manly, “We’re members of the same species” way.
“We’re not,” he muttered to himself. Gina continued to beam, chatting with Matthew as Tippy gave him a thorough slurping. Had Gina forgotten that this father had left her with a broken heart? And why, he wondered, did the sight of Bill give Cal a knot in his stomach?
She could see who she wanted. Befriend who she wanted.
Leave when she wanted. Why should he care?
Because he and Gina were friends, and he didn’t want to see his friend get hurt again, he told himself.
Bill pointed in Cal’s direction.
As Gina began to turn, perhaps to summon Cal to meet this Bill and son, Cal drifted away, a shadow clouding his good cheer.
Gina felt Cal’s strong hand on her back, guiding her into the clubhouse. It was furnished with comfortable leather chairs, a massive dining table, and a big screen TV. She still felt unsettled by the sudden appearance of Bill and Matthew, sweet angel Matthew.
“What do you think of the place?” Cal was saying.
“Very nice,” she said. “I was imagining something along the lines of the clubhouse my brother built out of scrap wood in the backyard when we were little. I wasn’t allowed in since I was a girl, but I snuck in one time and I found out where all the missing snacks from the kitchen had gone.”