“Can you believe this, Molly?” he asked, shaking his head. “World Series champions?”
She smiled and took his hand in hers. “It really is something else. Just incredible.”
“I know. Who would have ever imagined this? Any of it.”
Molly sat there, harboring many thoughts. She decided, though, to confine her comments to only those she knew wouldn’t mar the moment for him. He deserved at least this from her.
“It is certainly an accomplishment, Arthur,” she said. “A very special one. You said yourself that so many guys go an entire career and never even get to a World Series, let alone win one. It has to feel amazing.”
Murph was staring at all of the Yankee history displayed on the office walls. “It feels amazing because of that,” he said, pointing at the pictures and pennants plastered all about the room. “Baseball is all about history and honoring past accomplishments. The game has a way of immortalizing men, you know? And while we don’t have as much of a past as the pinstripes, I made it, Molly. I’m finally legit. I am part of Braves’ history and will be remembered forever. There is something really great about that.”
She smiled and reached for his other hand.
“Look, Molly, I know we have some talking to do.”
“There’s time for talking,” she said. “But I do have things to do back home, and naturally you have to take care of business here. So at some point—”
“What are you saying?” he asked. “Maybe we should just talk about it now that it’s out.”
She hung her head and sighed. “Look, Arthur, I’m not going to tell you what to do.” Her arms were folded and the smile she had previously worn had melted into a thin straight line. “You’ve accomplished something that is truly wonderful. It is. I am so proud of you and could not be happier that you have finally achieved what you have been chasing all these years. And I know that I should probably be more vocal about all you’ve done for Mickey—and for me. You gave me back my life, Arthur. You saved us. But you know where I’ve been and how far I’ve come.”
“Molly, you cannot be serious here,” he pleaded. “All that talk was before all this happened. Before the World Series. Before tonight. Tonight changes everything.”
She sighed and tilted her head slightly to the side.
She looked beautiful, and he wanted to get up and rush to her, to throw his arms around her and tell her all the things she wanted to hear. But he couldn’t.
So she nodded, brought two fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss, then left him sitting in his chair, hunched in the darkness like a broken branch.
EPILOGUE
The dirt beneath the wheels of Murph’s car rose and swirled like the breath of angry giants, lingering in the heavy morning air even after his blue and white Plymouth Road King had disappeared around the bend like a stealthy apparition. He had been driving all night with nothing for company but endless rows of cornstalks, a diamond-dotted sky, and the static coming from a car radio long past its prime. He rubbed his eyes. Truth was, he had not slept all that much in days and was really feeling it. He just wanted to get where he was going.
He had had a lot of time the past few days to think about things—what his life had become and where it was heading. The accolades and attention that were showered on him in the days following the victory were dreamlike. He had been basking in the glow and enjoying all of it. But he couldn’t understand why the shine on that World Series trophy seemed a little duller than he had imagined. And why he was not feeling as satisfied as he had some days ago. It made him stop. It made him scared. What if this victory was just as much a defeat? After all this time, what else in the game could provide the same focus, the same drive? His epiphany was riddled with doubt but he was pretty certain that he knew what he needed to do. And now, having made that decision, he needed to just do it and make it official.
Up ahead, just around a bend in the road, stood the farmhouse and the familiar red silo hovering just above the arching oaks. He could still remember the first time he saw it and all that happened afterward. He shook his head and laughed when he thought about that day and everything he had said and done. And he still could not believe everything that had happened since.
His car rolled up quietly and came to rest right in front of the mailbox that was still weather-beaten and hanging in melancholy silence. It looked exactly the same, except for the faded letters that by this time had all but vanished. He got out of his car and began following the narrow, winding path that led him past a tiny field that still housed a small gathering of slanted gravestones overrun with cucumber vines and crabgrass.
As he walked toward the back of the property, he recalled the last time he had been there, and the way Clarence had carried on when he finally understood that Molly was really leaving him. Murph also remembered her smile as they were pulling away from the farm and how they talked the whole way back to Milwaukee about her new life and about all the things that they both wanted to do. The warm recollection made his visit now all the more emotional.
He paused momentarily. His eyes turned skyward, as if seeking some divine insight into what was about to happen. He could see only streaks of blue peeking through the dense cover of clouds, and a sun that was struggling to release its golden ribbons. He closed his eyes and, filled his lungs with the fresh morning air. He was ready now to do what needed to be done. Then he heard a sound that captivated him the same way it had the very first time he had heard it.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The moment came with all the joy and pleasure of listening to a favorite song he had not heard in some time. The only thing different this time was the pleasant intermingling of voices, which he followed until he had discovered their source.
“Arthur, what are you doing here?” a soft voice asked.
He smiled wryly. “Well right now, I am having a most wonderful déjà vu,” he said, pointing at Mickey and the row of apples he had on the ground in front of him.
“Oh yes, Mickey is just showing me his very cool apple trick. Before now, I had only heard about it.”
Murph walked over to Mickey and put his arm around the young man. “That’s right, Jolene. I forgot you never got the chance to see how all of this began. Pretty remarkable, wouldn’t you say?”
“Seven apples so far, Mr. Murphy,” Mickey said. “Mickey used to throw twenty-six for Oscar, on account of him eating a lot. But that ain’t so now. Now I’m just showing Jolene how it works.”
“Well I always enjoyed watching it,” he said. “Definitely worth the trip here, that’s for sure.”
Jolene raised her eyebrows and made a funny face. “Now, are you saying that you drove all the way here from Boston just to watch Mickey throw apples into a barrel? The manager of the World Series Champion Braves, hanging out on a farm in Indiana, when he should be making plans for next season? You expect me to believe that?”
He tried to neutralize the tremor in his voice by looking away from her as he answered. “Well, maybe not only to see Mickey toss his apples,” he said. “There may be a couple of other things here that pulled me in this direction.”
Mickey continued firing the apples into the barrel while Murph and Jolene volleyed comments back and forth.
“Now what on earth would bring a big city, big league manager out to the sticks?” she asked, laughing. “Hell if I ain’t even having a little difficulty getting used to all this country living.”
“Ex–big city, big league manager,” he announced.
Her mouth fell open. “What did you say?” Jolene asked, eyes wide with incredulity. “They fired you after winning the World Series?”
“Not exactly,” he said, hurriedly as if it were the only way the words would actually pass his lips. “I resigned.”
“You did what!” she said. “Come on, Arthur. You’re kidding, right? Why on earth would you—”
“Mr. Murphy ain’t gonna manage baseball no more?” Mickey asked, taking a brief break from his exhibition. “Mic
key doesn’t understand. You love baseball.”
He did love baseball. It was all he ever had loved. Maybe it was because he had finally made it to the top of the mountain, or maybe he was just tired, but somehow, all he could think about the last couple of days were the losses—not the games he’d failed to win but those casualties that had come at the hands of one who had wedded himself to one vision. He could still see all three of them—women with whom he had begun relationships, only to see each one go up in flames because his devotion could not be divided. The last one had hurt the most.
He could still remember the cold shadow of doubt that fell over him the last time they had spoken.
“Arthur, I think we need to talk.”
He never forgot those words or the year that followed. That incessant hunger he had and all the lonely meals that did little to fill him. He was plagued by the emptiness, his inability to satisfy those relentless pangs no matter how hard he tried. He thought he could short-circuit the longing, cut it off at its source by replacing it with something else. Baseball seemed like the logical choice. It was all he had. But even then he knew it was impossible to wrap his arms around a late-inning loss or an exciting come-from-behind victory. And now he thought he had finally realized something else. Baseball wasn’t the answer to his longing—it was the cause, and had been all along. Baseball had brought him some of the most glorious moments of his life, but baseball was the reason why all he ever had was baseball. Now he stood, years later, on a piece of muddy farmland, glancing anxiously at his watch. It was almost nine and he had wanted to tell Molly the news long before then. It made his stomach burn.
“I do love baseball,” he explained. “I’ve loved baseball more than anything my whole life. But not too long ago, a pretty lady who just so happens to live in that farmhouse over there mentioned to me that maybe, uh, it was time to love something else that way. So I’ve been, uh, thinking about it … a lot, and I’m pretty sure she may be right.”
Jolene folded her arms and flashed a peculiar smile. “Um, Arthur,” she said oddly. “Before you head up to the house, there’s something you should know.”
He was confused and suddenly alarmed. “What’s the matter, Jolene? What’s wrong?”
“Molly’s not here,” she said.
His whole face dropped. “Not here?” he repeated. “What do you mean? I don’t understand. Where is she?”
Jolene’s smile became more pronounced and gave way to some laughter that had Murph really scratching his head. “She’s headed to Boston—probably just got there. Seems like the both of you had the same idea.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. Then he opened them, blinked and smiled. “Well isn’t that something? I guess she didn’t think I was ready for life on the farm.”
Murph was reeling from his discovery. She went to Boston, he kept saying to himself. In that moment, he knew he had made the right decision. He was luckier than he realized. Vivid scenes from the past three years flashed through his mind. His life had really changed in such a short time. Mickey’s too. He stood looking at the boy, almost unable to process the remarkable transformation.
“Hey, Mick, you’re not thinking of coming back to the farm too, are you?” he asked. “I mean, you’ve just gotten started and have plenty of work to do still, kid.”
Mickey grimaced and fired another apple into the barrel. “Heck no, Mr. Murphy. Mickey’s heading back to Boston with Jolene. I’m a ballplayer now. You taught me that.”
Murph nodded and smiled hard. “Yes, yes you are. Mickey Tussler is a ballplayer. And a darn good one at that. Maybe one of the best there ever was.” Murph turned toward the farmhouse. Thoughts of the call he needed to make drummed inside his head. But before he took his first step in that direction, he bent down, picked up another apple, and placed it in Mickey’s hand. “Yes,” he repeated. “You are one helluva ballplayer, Mickey Tussler. The kind that legends are made of.”
AUTHOR BIO
Frank Nappi has taught high school English and Creative Writing for more than twenty-five years. His debut novel, Echoes from the Infantry, received national attention, including the Miliatry Writers Society of America’s silver medal for outstanding fiction. His follow-up novel, The Legend of Mickey Tussler, garnered rave reviews as well, including a movie adaptation of the touching story, A Mile in His Shoes, starring Dean Cain and Luke Schroder. Frank continues to produce quality work, including Sophomore Campaign, the intriguing sequel to the much-heralded original story, and now the much-anticipated third installment of the critically acclaimed series, Welcome to the Show. Frank lives on Long Island with his wife, Julia, and their two sons, Nicholas and Anthony. For additional materials, please visit www.franknappi.com.
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