by Faith O'Shea
After taking a breath, he went to find Fifi.
He made his way slowly into the kitchen, where she was sitting, two plates on the table, one empty, one piled high. As he eased himself into a chair, she was sniffing the air just like Hoover might have. “You don’t smell bad. Did you find anything?”
He gave her a lop-sided smile. “I did. My sister must have found it on one of her essential oil websites.”
He reached for the containers and emptied them one by one onto his plate.
“Thanks for ordering with Mateo in mind.”
“No problem although I just guessed at what kinds of food they eat in Cuba.”
He looked up into her clear gray eyes. They were soft like a dove, and for once the look was one of approval.
“It doesn’t sound as if they eat all that well there. I think anything substantial would have been fine. You didn’t need to order Hispanic.”
“It was actually advertised as Mediterranean. I’m becoming a fan.”
It was similar to what they’d had the other night. She was holding a piece of shredded chicken in her fingers. “He seems nice.”
“He’s talented. That’s what counts.”
“Isn’t chemistry important as well?”
“Actually, more so in some cases. You’d know the science of that better than I.”
He could feel her tense. “What makes you think so?”
He was ready to mention her treatise on kissing but shrugged it off and said instead, “You said your mother’s a scientist, your father’s a mathematician. Don’t those kinds of traits get passed down the same way the color of my hair and eyes did?”
After pausing only for a second, she nodded and said, “Yes.”
His fork was poised for another mouthful but before he brought it to his mouth, he said. “Explain it to me.”
“It’s all in the DNA.”
“How does it get parceled out?”
Her eyes had narrowed as if he’d somehow uncovered a deep, dark secret.
“You’re implying that I know about this.”
“I’m implying you’re a scientist, if not by profession, then by osmosis.”
He heard her breath tremble out.
“My mother’s a geologist, not a geneticist.”
“Even I know a little bit about it. What I remember, and correct me if I’m wrong, is that my DNA is made up of all genetic material that goes back as far as…the big inning.” He laughed at his own joke. “Some have said that baseball was taken right from the Bible…In the beginning, in the big inning. Get it?”
Her chuckle sounded like a spontaneous response to something stupid.
He rolled his eyes at her. “I take it you like more serious subjects. Back to my DNA. I have fragments of every person on my family tree, from all who came before, through reproduction. I should have a relative who’s an athlete, which I do.” He looked up to see her mouth slightly ajar and her eyes wide in surprise. Rather than comment, he went on, hoping, for some reason, to impress her with his depth of knowledge on a subject other than baseball. “I should have some of my father’s financial skill hiding out somewhere along the double helix, along with my mother’s social skills. I think you can even inherit things like curiosity and logical thinking from a parent or grandparent. You know some of my hand-me-downs while I know few of yours.”
He grinned. “Paint me a picture.”
It was as if she were tongue-tied, and he now suspected she was holding out on him.
“I’ll start it for you. You don’t cook so you don’t like puttering around the kitchen. Not very domestic from what I can see. Maybe you’d prefer a lab like your mother or some complex mathematical equation to solve like your father. You have intelligent eyes that seem to probe into the very heart of things and…”
He was going to say she looked like a nerd but thought she might take it wrong, so he kept it to himself.
“And…go on.”
She was intrigued.
“The night we played cards, I got the impression you don’t let your emotions control you. You can be playful or otherwise you wouldn’t have gone outside and made snow angels for Hoover. You’re organized, disciplined, and you’re real. There’s no artifice about you. How am I doing so far?”
She actually couldn’t believe how right he’d gotten it, how well he seemed to know her already. And for him to know so much about genetics?
“Where did you learn this fundamental knowledge that you’ve entertained me with?”
“I took biology in college. It was broad based, but I got a rudimentary understanding of how it all works.”
“How many years did you go?”
“For a couple in Brazil before I transferred here to the States. Then I had to choose between academics and baseball. I think it’s obvious which way I went.”
“Why did you leave when you did? They don’t give you time to graduate?”
“They do, yes, but when I was drafted by the Mets in my third year, I dropped out and signed the contract. I wasn’t sure there’d be a better deal than the one they offered. Besides, what was the purpose of majoring in sports broadcasting if I wanted to play the game, not call it?”
“You took biology for that?”
“I would have preferred human anatomy. Learning about muscles, bones, and organs would have given me information I could have used, but it was full up by the time I registered. During the first couple of years, they make you take lame things like science, math and literature so I had to pick something else.”
Lame?
“You don’t consider them important subjects?”
“Sure, for someone like your mother. Not for someone like me. What kind of subjects are available for dog walkers?”
There was a defiant gleam in those dark eyes, as if he wanted her to set him straight. She wasn’t going to give in to the curiosity burning there. With a set of her chin, she said, “Kennel 101 and How To Avoid Crazy Drivers 322.”
He gave her a soft chuckle as if remembering.
“You didn’t do too well in that the day I arrived, am I right?”
“I had actually mastered it, but when you lose your focus, you don’t see what’s coming.”
“Like a pitch or a ground ball. I can relate to that.”
She understood the ground ball but, “Why a pitch?”
“The ball is coming at you at close to one hundred miles an hour, and you have to make a decision to hit it or let it go as soon as it leaves the pitcher’s hand. If your attention is on something else even for a split second, you’re either late with your swing or miss it entirely. Strike one.”
A hundred miles an hour?
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Only when the pitcher’s pissed and goes for your head.”
Her eyes widened. “They do things like that?”
He laughed outright. “Someday ask my brother-in-law about revenge on the mound. He’ll have some good stories for you.”
Reid did things like that? She’d always liked him. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
“And the referees let them get away with it? I’d say that’s intent to harm with a deadly weapon.”
“They’re called umpires and the pitcher can get tossed out of the game if it’s blatantly intentional.”
“It’s not always intentional?”
“They usually have control of the ball but sometimes they slip up. They’re out there to strike you out, not flatten you.”
“And you have to stand there and hope for the best?”
“You usually know when a pitcher’s pissed, and then you just pay even closer attention to where the ball’s headed.”
“What would make him that angry?”
“A batter hugging the plate, one of our pitchers losing control and hitting a batter in the previous inning, when one of our guys is hurt with a cleat while sliding, or some other misdemeanor.”
“How do you a hug a plate?”
“By leaning too far into the st
rike zone.”
She shook her head. One question answered led to another but he looked tired and she knew he was hurting.
“You should probably get to bed. You’ve got another round of torture set for tomorrow, don’t you?”
“I do and you’re right. Thanks for the supplemental meal.”
He rose slowly and began to pick up his empty plate.
“I’ve got this.”
He looked at her sheepishly said goodnight and limped off.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Fiona once again had morning coffee waiting for Enrique. She would have been up with the birds if they hadn’t been finding warmth in places other than the trees, and she’d already gotten most of her chores done by the time he came down. She scrutinized the new gear, the word Greenliner running down one of the legs, and one a long-sleeved tee emblazoned with their logo, an old-fashioned trolley car. He seemed better this morning, hobbling less, but he turned up his nose at the pastries. He threw something at her, and she had to lean down to grab it.
“What’s this?”
“One of the sweatshirts they had made last season before the playoffs. I picked up a couple of pieces of merchandise yesterday. Going in with my Mets tee shirt didn’t go over well. I thought you might like one as a souvenir.”
She held it out. Written across the front was the Greenie logo and the words Bring It.
He explained, “The Red Sox went with the phrase Do Damage. When they won, it changed to Damage Done. If the Greenies had won the series, they would have made new ones that read Brought. Maybe we can bring it next year.”
She mumbled a thanks and put it on. It was a little big, but she didn’t mind. It was warm and that’s what counted.
“Looks good. First step in becoming a fan. Once I get my shirt, I’ll give you one of those, too.”
She glanced up to see him staring at her and it softened her resolve to stay in the neutral zone.
He broke eye contact and announced, “I need protein if I’m going to survive the day. Anything left over from our meal last night?”
She brushed the powder from the doughnut off her hands and shook her head. “We pretty much finished that off the second time around.”
He opened the refrigerator to peer inside.
“Ha. Leftover stroganoff. I forgot about this.”
After heating it up in the microwave and wolfing it down, he dumped his dish in the sink, along with the glass container. He grabbed a water and his coat and all but ran out of the house as if excited to get going, the prospect of pain apparently an appealing one.
He yelled a good-bye as he bolted out the door.
As soon as he did, she called her uncle.
“Hello, pretty miss. What’s up?”
“Are you working today?”
“You know I have a three-day weekend.”
She also knew he went into work every so often if one of his patients needed him.
“I was wondering if you could spare some time today to give me a baseball-for-dummies instructive.”
“You want to learn the game? To what do I owe this miracle?”
He’d been trying to get her to a game since even before he hooked up with Reid’s mother, but she’d always turned him down. She wished now she hadn’t. Melinda loved the game, used to act as Reid’s catcher when he was growing up, and Jim was able to enjoy his passion for the game, in a way he hadn’t thought possible.
“I don’t like being at a disadvantage on any subject and Izabella’s brother is here. He talks, I listen, but no one translates.”
“Come over for lunch. I’ll make something to eat and then we can get down to business.”
“Thanks, Uncle Jim. I just want the basics.”
“That will still take hours, my girl.”
“You’re kidding? There’s balls, bats, gloves, and bases.”
“And a hell of a lot of intricate details in between, which is right up your alley.”
He should know. He’d take care of her and Siobhan when they were younger and he still lived in Pennsylvania, stayed at their house when her mother was obsessed with some new finding and her father’s job took him to conferences around the country. He was her mother’s brother, another scientist at heart but who’d gone a different route. He was a healer, had given thirty years of his life to nursing in the oncology department at a children’s hospital near Philadelphia and then one in Boston. He’d seen his share of death, which made him more sensitive than her parents, more affectionate and openly loving, and she adored him. When he’d moved east, she’d missed him more than she would have her parents, and he was one of the reasons she came to Boston for college.
“I actually figured that out for myself last night when I asked Rique what hugging the plate meant.”
“I’ve got some saved games on TV, which I can pull out if you want a play-by-play.”
“Do you have any of Reid throwing at a batter?”
“I might. It only happens when someone disrespects his strike zone.”
“This sounds more like two rival gangs than two professional baseball teams.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
There was a chuckle in his voice as if it were funny. She could only reply, “I never thought of it as a contact sport.”
“It isn’t, not like hockey or football, but you can get hurt out there.” He changed the subject on a dime by asking, “How are the interviews going?”
“I don’t know. The experience I have doesn’t seem to mean shit. I’ve got one more scheduled for next Friday in Amherst. Then I go second tier.”
“And second tier is…”
“Other.”
“Hold out. You’ll get something.”
She would if she could afford to. It wasn’t only that money was tight. She needed to sink her teeth into a project.
“I will as long as I can.”
“If you need a loan—”
“Absolutely not. I’ll manage.”
“What good is it to have a family if you can’t rely on them in times of…scarcity?”
“Are you sure you and my mother came from the same sperm and egg donors?”
“Pretty sure. If not, I wasted a lot of time with you and Siobhan.”
“Then I’ll have to take your word that you came from the same parents.”
“Your mother was always more driven than I was, and she needed to shine. Our parents weren’t exactly touchy-feely either.”
“That gene should have mutated out.”
“I think it did. Siobhan’s a great mother.”
“She isn’t as driven as I am. Does that make me like you know who?”
“Depends. I’d like to think you’re going to live a more balanced life. Find a guy, fall madly in love, have kids and close the door to the lab every night.”
“I can’t even find a job, never mind a husband.”
“Hold out for that as well. It’s usually worth the wait.”
He should know. He was single until he met Melinda. He had lived with someone before that but the way he told it he wasn’t very good husband material and the woman broke it off after six or seven years. It’s what had prompted his move. He’d been wrong. He was excellent husband material, or maybe he’d just found the right woman for him.
“I don’t think I’ll have a choice. There’s no one pounding down my door.”
“When it comes, you’ll fall flat, with the proverbial stars circling. We’ll talk more when you get here. Say around noon.”
“I’ll be there.”
They only lived a few miles away so it wouldn’t take long. To kill time, she puttered around the house, did some wash, and spoke to her sister, who was on her lunch break. It was always good to talk to her and she gave her the pep talk she needed. They were close even though they lived miles apart. She got up there when she could, not wanting to miss many of her niece’s and nephew’s milestones, and Portland had a nice vibe for relaxation. She’d promised to get out there before spring, a
lthough she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep it. It’d be hard asking for time off if someone deemed to hire her. She grabbed her pocket book and keys, giving herself five minutes to go across town. Her uncle had moved in with Melinda before they got married, and she lived in the same town as Reid and his brother Nolan. They were known as townies, a fourth generation that had roots here.
When she rang the bell, it was Melinda who answered. She was still in a wheelchair, having broken vertebrae in her back in an automobile accident when Reid was just a kid, although she used braces outside the house to get around.
“Welcome, Fiona. It’s so good to see you.”
Fiona kissed her cheek and dropped her purse on the hall table, the dog beside her excited to be here.
“I hope you don’t mind but I brought Hoover with me. I didn’t want to leave her alone for the day.”
Melinda was giving Hoover a hug, rubbed his ears and got a whimper of happiness in return.
“Of course not. She’s my buddy, aren’t you, girl?”
Melinda had lived with Izabella during Leeni’s recuperation, which meant she’d lived with Hoover as well.
Fiona followed her aunt into the family room, the wheels of her chair sliding across the hardwood floors with ease, the dog’s paws scratching the surface. Melinda had only become that designation a few years ago, when she’d married Jim, but she treated her more like family than her real one did. Fiona was always welcome here and had dropped by for many a dinner while she was in school.
There was a fire burning brightly in the grate, spreading its warmth throughout the room. It felt good, but she hoped she didn’t fall asleep during the lesson.
Jim hugged her and said. “I’ve got this all teed up and ready to go. Lunch first or should we take the time later as a break? You might need one.”
“I don’t want to take up too much of your time with this.”
Jim sat in one of the overstuffed chairs and motioned for her to take the other. She stripped her coat off, unwound her scarf, and laid them on the back of the chair and sat.