by Faith O'Shea
“I wasn’t speaking about you.”
Too much information. If people thought scientists were conservative and stuffy, they hadn’t met Terry. She was a child of the sixties even though she was born ten years too late.
“You think you can get me tickets for opening day? It might earn me a night of gratitude if you could.”
“I can ask.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate it. Now, do you want to visit the lab? See what we’ve been up to since you took your test tubes and went home?”
“I’d love to.”
She felt the thrill that always came with the word lab. It almost drowned out the other thrill that was becoming a persistent ache. She glanced over to Terry, who was walking companionably beside her, and wondered if she could do as suggested. The ache began to throb.
As soon as Fiona walked into the bustling lab, all her insecurities fell away, along with the physical thrum that came with thoughts of Rique. Cubicles, each with its own computer, had stacks of lab notebooks and the reams of paper it took to record test results that came from the quantitative and reliable methodologies used. It held the kind of fascination she needed to flourish, a work environment that was ever-changing, unpredictable, and full of surprises, understandable considering their subjects, the human being. Terry was a clinical geneticist, whose job it was to interpret and communicate the results of DNA samples in order to verify or refute a suspected genetic disorder. The lab rats working here were a mixture of students, scientists, and support staff, who spent time developing new procedures of extracting information from the human genome. Terry taught classes, which she said was the brightest part of her day, working with a new generation of scientists who were as enthusiastic as she’d been at the beginning of her career. Her worst was diagnosing an infant’s incurable disease. It was what made her work harder, smarter, to eradicate those emotional moments of anger and frustration. She was the person Fiona would emulate when she had a lab of her own.
Two of the lab rats welcomed her with wide smiles. Kim Foster and Lucy Henson were still struggling through the last year of their doctoral program, assisting in Terry’s clinical trials and diagnosis while trying to complete their own research.
Kim asked, “Do you have good news for us?”
She was asking in her own interminable way if she’d found a job yet.
“Not yet, but soon.”
Hopefully.
“You’d better. I need motivation to keep going. I’m in the writing phase and it’s slow going. I have a way with testing samples, but not with words and explanations.”
Terry reminded, “Mind on what you’re doing, please. The last group of test samples were done incorrectly. We have enough to do around here. We don’t need to duplicate efforts.”
She could see Kim’s cheeks pinken. She had the kind of complexion that showed the slightest bit of embarrassment.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Erin Lambert came running in, her white lab coat flapping, as she searched for the other arm that was dangling behind her.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I picked up the buccal smear on my way in. I’ll get working on it now.”
Terry shared, “New patient. Six-month-old. We told the parents we’d rush it.”
Fiona nodded in understanding. Erin would be looking for changes in the child’s DNA that would lead to a diagnosis. That was the one thing she wouldn’t miss about being here. All those times they’d come to the unbearable conclusion that the genes had gone haywire and were about to short-circuit a lifespan. She preferred her own specialty where she dealt with gene mutation in general and didn’t have to decode life from death in an individual.
“I’ll let you get back to work.”
Terry glanced up from the computer printout of test samples she was reviewing and said, “Keep me in the loop. If I come up with an alternative, I’ll call. And rethink that stance you’ve taken on a certain baseball player. I want quantitative and measurable stats if you move forward with it.”
She winked before she shifted back to her analysis.
CHAPTER TEN
Enrique was still stinging from Fiona’s verbal assault as he walked through the underground tunnel at Harborside. How the hell did she know those facts? The ones about kissing. Neurons, tactile acuity, maximizing intimacy. It sounded like a hypothesis, a scientific supposition about mouths and nerve endings. What it suggested was that the brain had a lot more to do with the sensations of mouth-to-mouth contact than the other body parts he’d relied on in the past.
And of course, now that she’d told him not to kiss her again, there was a driving need to do just that. But the next time, and there would be a next time, he’d have to draw it out, feel those nerve endings, that brain-to-brain exchange. He barked out a laugh. Like he’d be able to concentrate on his brain cells when she was wreaking havoc on other cells that were far more assertive.
“What’s so funny?”
Rique looked up to see Leo leaning against the door frame of his office as if waiting for him to show up. He glanced at his watch and released a sigh of relief. He wasn’t late.
“Come in. There’s someone here I think you know.”
Leo stepped back and let him enter first. Sitting in a chair was a round-faced, dark complexioned, dark-haired man, mid-twenties, with a baseball physique. He wore a baseball hat with the Alfareros logo, the top of a bat that contained a ball with stitches within its lines. It was the Cuban team Alvarez played for. He smirked. It looked like there was another player who was unwilling to leave behind some of his personal belongings. He wondered if Leo was going to say anything. When he jerked his thumb in the direction of the hat, all the coach did was smile. Mattie whipped it off his head, ran his hand through his thick hair and smiled weakly before getting up and giving him a hug.
Rique slapped him on the back and said, “Good to see you again. Happy to finally be here?”
“I am.”
Mateo had stayed with Rique’s family in Brazil while waiting for his visa to be approved. He’d emigrated to Mexico, met up with the Greenliners director of player development, who introduced him to Keith. One thing had led to another and he’d ended up at the dos Santos villa in Rio. They’d gotten to know each other fairly well while he was there, partied some nights, but the guy didn’t seem to date much. He often wondered if he’d left a woman behind and hadn’t gotten over her yet, even though he’d denied it when asked.
“When did you get here?”
“Late yesterday.”
Rique thought it a shame that Mateo had defected a few months before an agreement had been reached between the Baseball Federation in Cuba and the MLB League that allowed Cuban players to retain an agent and sign with an American team. He knew there were certain requirements that came with eligibility, but he was sure Mateo fulfilled them. Up until just last month, any Cuban who wanted to escape their homeland, play in the States, and pursue a U.S. contract, had to be smuggled in, usually by unscrupulous agencies. Over drinks, Mateo had shared some horror stories about other Cubans who currently played in the big leagues that included ransom, torture, and even death, something akin to human trafficking. He’d said he’d been saved by Divine Providence, arriving in one piece, but didn’t elaborate any more than that.
“Where you staying?”
“At one of the hotels in the area. For now. Keith told me Alicia is working on something more permanent.”
Alicia was the director of player development who’d gotten Mattie here and from what he’d heard, she’d had to move mountains to do it. He hadn’t been introduced yet, but he was looking forward to meeting the woman who’d climbed so high on the ladder of a very male-oriented sport
Leo interrupted the reunion. “You can catch up later. Seb had some family thing so he won’t be here until tomorrow. He’s been with the farm system and knows the culture. With spring training right around the corner, I only have a month to get you guys up to speed.”
Rique laughed. “You mea
n yesterday wasn’t business?”
“That’s what we call orientation around here.”
“Will Mattie go through the same?”
“Doesn’t need to. He hit .300, stole fifty-nine bases and had no errors last year. If you could have said the same, I wouldn’t have had to put you through your paces.”
In a gruff voice, he added, “He might have brought a hat, but he didn’t come with an attitude.”
Rique’s hands went to his hips and he scoffed, “I don’t have an attitude.”
Leo raised his eyebrows. “Okay, how about the I-don’t-have-to-give-it-my-all syndrome.”
He wanted to say he didn’t have that either but couldn’t. Leo picked up his keys, his clipboard and his phone. “Come on, you two, we’re going on a field trip.”
They left the city by way of team van and traveled fifteen minutes south. Leo small-talked with them during the drive or tried to. He was the only one who did a back-and-forth. Mateo hadn’t uttered a word, but then again, he rarely did. Rique had initially thought the guy didn’t understand English. Where most everyone in the world learned English as a second language, Cubans not so much. There’d been a lifetime of animosity between the mainland and the island, and it had only been in the last few years that the hostilities had lessened. He’d found out soon enough he understood it extremely well.
Rique glanced over at him from time to time. Mattie’s expression suggested he was in deep thought, and he was just about to ask him if he was okay when Leo pulled into the parking lot of the facility. They ambled over and walked in after opening the glass door. A receptionist at the front desk greeted them.
“Good morning, Leo. It’s already for you.”
“Great, Gretchen. Thanks.”
They went down a short passageway to the left and entered a huge open area. The room, if one wanted to call it that, could have been lifted up and replanted anywhere as a real live park. The lights overhead were the only thing unnatural about the place. The bases were laid out ninety feet apart, and a hitting machine stood on the pitcher’s mound, the coach standing right beside it, an evil grin on his face. It didn’t take long to get the torture underway. There were sliding and double-play drills, parachute runs to exercise twitch muscles, along with neuromuscular training moves that squeezed the quads and worked the hip flection. When they brought the flat paddles out, Rique groaned. They were worn like a glove and designed to force an infielder to catch with two hands. He had to stop the ball with the paddle while simultaneously covering it with his other hand. It stung every time the ball hit it and Leo was giving it all he had. He could feel his hand swelling throughout the drill, and he wasn’t sure his glove would fit after the damn exercise. Watching Mattie hustle for every ball hit to him made Rique feel as if he’d been phoning it in. After some soft tosses, they faced the hitting tee. What seemed like a little league fundamental, was used by every team and thought to be one of the most essential tools for batting practice. It was where a good hitter fine-tuned his skills and perfected his art. Rique was often bored by the repetition, and he’d been told by his former coach that if he didn’t like practicing his swing, he should get out of the sport. That wasn’t going to happen, so he’d just have to suck it up. It was all about discipline.
Mattie was up first. As Rique watched, he became mesmerized. The third baseman not only had power, he had balance and control and his timing was impeccable. He must have stoked six that would have made it out of the park if he’d been standing in the box at Harborside.
When it was Rique’s turn, he stepped into the batter’s box. He kept his mind sharp and focused on every step of his swing. Mattie gave him pointers after his first few attempts, and he started to feel comfortable in his stance. He began to approach the ball with more confidence, until he was making contact at the meat of the bat, hitting it farther and farther into he outfield.
When he was done, Leo came over and slapped him on the back. “I think we found your hitting buddy. Good work.”
He looked over at Mattie whose brow was furrowed. He was all about focus, grit, and determination. Rique could learn a lot from him.
Finally, after several hours of being run ragged, they were set free. Rique all but limped back to the locker room once they returned to their home base. He ached everywhere, and he’d bet there were bruises on his bruises. He couldn’t help but notice that Mattie’s stride was normal, like he’d just been for a walk in the park.
“You didn’t feel any of that?”
“Yes, I felt it. I’ve had no full-out practice in a long time, and Leo used some tricks that I’ve never seen before. A paddle should be illegal.”
He laughed even though it hurt and groaned, “I think it is.”
Mattie chuckled. It was the first time he’d cracked a smile since arriving.
After showering, Rique hung around and waited for his new teammate. When Alvarez finally exited the shower room, a towel wrapped around his waist, Rique asked, “Want to grab a coffee? Catch up?”
“That would be nice. Thank you. I’m not sure about what to do now that I’m here.”
It had to suck. Mattie had been surrounded by the dos Santos family for the last several months, and now he was on his own. There was nothing worse than feeling the let down of that. He should know. He’d felt that way his first year at Michigan before he’d made friends, gotten to know the area.
“I’ll help you figure it out.”
Mattie had begun getting dressed. They’d both known enough to bring a duffel of clean clothes. Who wanted to put on an ugly, sweat-soaked shirt after cleaning up?
“I’d appreciate that. The city is so big.”
He could have laughed outright at that. Boston was small compared to LA, Chicago, or New York. Or where he came from.
“You lived in Rio for close to four months. You never felt overwhelmed, did you?”
“I did. When you weren’t around, I stuck pretty close to your home. I was afraid of getting lost, or worse. The town I come from wouldn’t even make the map here.”
“This is downsizing for me. Rio to New York to Boston. I should be feeling cramped.”
But he wasn’t. He was finally feeling as if he’d found his home.
“I’m staying with Izabella and Reid. They live about twenty miles north. She gave me the name of a real estate agent. If you want, I can have her look around for something for you.”
Rique had decided not to use her. Izabella would know better what he needed, so he was going to wait for her to show him around.
Mattie asked, “Alicia is taking care of that, although I’m not sure where I’ll end up. Where does Reid live?”
“Andover. It’s small, but it has its fair share of athletes as residents. Reid grew up there, but you can live anywhere you want in the area and be happy. Boston’s a big sports town, and two of their teams, football and baseball, have a lock on their leagues. Hockey and basketball are competitive.” He laughed and added, “They’re going through a drought right now. It’s been all of four months since their last championship. The fans are waiting for the Patriots to win the Super Bowl and get them out of it.”
He shrugged when Mattie gave him a lukewarm smile. He obviously didn’t appreciate the joke. He watched his new teammate slip on his street shoes, which wouldn’t keep him warm in a foot of snow. He’d have to show him around, give him some advice about how to survive the wintry blasts of cold here.
“Your feet will freeze in those things. You’ve got to get some boots. It’s the first thing my sister told me to get when I moved to Michigan.”
“It is good you have family here. As you know, I’ve wanted to come here for a couple of years but put it off, not only because of the stories of imprisonment but because leaving my mother behind was difficult. It was she who finally convinced me to make the move. If anything were to happen to her, I would be desolate. We are all we have.”
“Will you be able to bring her here?”
He paused, as if trying to
choose his words carefully.
“There is a lawyer working on it. With our government, one never knows.”
There was sadness in his eyes. Was that why he wasn’t smiling, even though one of his dreams had come true? There was more than Mattie was letting on, but he’d never been able to ferret out what it was.
“Look, instead of coffee, why don’t you come with me. We can pick up dinner and talk. I can drive you back to your hotel later tonight.”
Mattie looked up as he hefted the duffel over his shoulder. “I’d like that. I am ready if you are.”
They walked through the tunnel toward the parking lot, the snow crunching underfoot, muscles he didn’t even know he had screaming at him with every step. He tried to ignore them.
“Once we get to Florida, we’ll all be in pretty much the same boat as you are. There’ll be some families there, but a lot of wives stay home, their kids in school. And the weather will certainly be more to my liking.”
“That’s a month away, is it not?”
“Some players go down as soon as the trucks get there. I’m making a quick trip to Brazil as soon as the caravan leaves and will stay only a few days before heading to Sanford.”
Rique was walking more slowly than usual, Mattie slipping around, trying to maintain his balance on the icy strip of pavement.
“You don’t get snow in Cuba, do you?”
“No. This is my first taste. And it’s much colder here than at home. The temperatures don’t go less than sixty degrees in January.”
Rique chuckled. “Opening day’s no picnic. It’s still cold into April and opening day’s earlier this year than in the past. According to the schedule, it’s scheduled for late March. We freeze for at least a month before it gets comfortable.”
“I must get used to it.”
“Pick up some warmer clothes. And the boots will help.”
When they got to the car, Mattie whistled, circling the car and taking in every inch.
“This is what money can buy here.”
“This and a whole lot more. You must have gotten a signing bonus.”