by Darin Gibby
“You bet. Nothing is going to stop me. Wouldn’t be a bad thing to die at sea,” she kidded.
Melvelene’s daughter excused herself so that they could be alone. Gil fidgeted with the sofa’s cushion. Melvelene broke the uneasy silence.
“Wasn’t Slider great at the All-Star game?”
“Was probably the first game he kept his nose clean.”
“I still chuckle when I think of what he did to the Dodgers’ second baseman. There was blood flying everywhere.”
Melvelene was referring to when Slider had bulldozed the Dodgers player when he rounded second base, then kept going. The stunned Dodgers were paralyzed as Slider rounded third and bolted for home. The shortstop scooped up the ball with his bare hand and whipped it to the catcher. The Dodgers’ protector of home plate was even more massive than Preacher, and he steadied himself in front of the plate. If Slider wanted to take him on, he was ready. The catcher squatted, squared his shoulders, and prepared for the collision. The pitcher and first baseman, who’d already positioned themselves behind the catcher, bolstered themselves, forming a three-man defensive wall. The scene looked more like a football lineman with his two linebackers daring the running back to cross the line of scrimmage.
Like a raging bull, Slider was foaming at the mouth, his nostrils as wide as golf balls as he screamed toward the battle. With no helmet to protect him, Slider, his lip covered with blood, lowered his head and plowed directly into the catcher. The laws of physics were against him. It was like striking a brick wall. The force created by Slider’s body jolted the catcher back, but he instantly recoiled and stood firm. Slider kept his legs churning like a running back smelling the goal line.
The umpire called the runner out, but Slider didn’t stop. Grunting and straining, he moved the pile slowly backward, forcing the men to backpedal. Slider kept this up until he finally made contact with the white rubber plate. Then he uprighted himself, spat a mouthful of blood onto the dirt, and stared down the shocked fans.
“Broke Slider’s nose in two places. Gonzalez yanked it back into place in the locker room. Now he really looks like a hockey player.”
Melvelene laughed until her eyes were wet. Gil noticed how her frail frame shook, straining her feeble condition.
“You know I’m not laughing at him, just at what young people do. They’ll find a way to survive. Life isn’t fun if you don’t make it an adventure. But you know all about that.”
“I do, but we’re not here to talk about me. Tell me your plans for Alaska.”
She shook her finger at him. “But we are here to talk about you. What’s been eating at you? Your pitching has gone to the dogs.”
He finally mustered up the courage. “My father’s the problem. It’s kind of like we’re at war with each other.”
“I could have guessed that.”
“I’m sorry he used you as his showpiece. He does the same thing to me. I should have known better.”
She waved her hand. “No need to apologize. I didn’t take it personally. At least you have a father to war with.”
“Tell me about yours.”
“You sure you want to hear?”
Gil nodded.
Melvelene sighed then started her tale. It all happened one day in Salt Lake City when her grandfather lost his sanity during a domestic dispute. She was still a small child but remembered sitting on the kitchen table while her mother was engaged in a serious discussion with her grandmother. In a rage, her grandfather stormed into the room toting a gun. After some harsh words, he transformed into a crazy gunslinger, waving the gun and spewing out profanities in an unending stream. Then he did the unthinkable—he raised the weapon, leveled it, and shot his own wife point blank in the face, spewing blood and tissue across the room.
The rampage continued. The next victim was Melvelene’s father, who tried to stop the madness, only to get cut down with gunfire.
Gil listened intently as she told of how shooting continued as her grandfather wildly shot up through the ceiling in a random attempt to take out anyone unlucky enough to be inside. “He made Swiss cheese out of our home.”
Her cynicism wasn’t the laughing kind. A sobering chill swept through the room.
Shortly after the funerals, reality struck again when her family was involved in a serious car accident, which took the life of her mother. With fate on her side, Melvelene was thrown free, unharmed.
“I was now completely alone. My grandmother and both parents were gone.”
Melevelene then told how she managed to overcome all of that—getting married, having a family of her own. She’d raised two children, scraping and struggling like most everybody else.
By the time she finished her story, she was slumping on the couch—emotionally exhausted. “I haven’t dusted off those memories in a long time,” she said.
She rested for a few minutes, waiting for her strength to recharge. Gil sat in silence, finally understanding why she’d asked him to come. He was glad he’d come to hear her story. It made his life look easy.
Gil put the pillow down and shifted his weight, getting ready to stand. He struggled to say something consoling. But what could he possibly tell her? Anything he said would sound so feeble, so artificial.
While he mused on his predicament, Melvelene scooted herself up. “Let’s talk about your father.”
“You see how he is. And when he saw that picture in the paper, well, now he’s demanding I stop pitching.”
“Why?”
“I’m ‘mocking God.’ I’m telling you, I didn’t do it,” Gil said.
She waved him off. “You did, you didn’t, I don’t really care. That’s not what’s important.”
“It’s not. But wait, I didn’t … ”
“You’re a man, and I don’t really care if the photo is real or not. What happened, happened. You could have done something a lot worse.”
“My father doesn’t think so.” Gil repeated the history with his father and how Alicia came into their family.
“You’ve told him about this?”
“I told Keri.”
“You should tell your father. Reconcile with him before it’s too late.”
“I don’t think he’ll speak with me. I’ve really hurt him—shattered his world.”
“If everyone isn’t hurting, God didn’t design this world correctly. Let me ask you this: If you had to, would you give up pitching?”
“You mean, just walk away right now? Admit I’m guilty, resign and go back to being a coach? No, I’ve already made up my mind. This is something I’ve got to finish.”
Melvelene smiled. “Good. You’re a fighter. Stick to your guns. It will all work out.”
She held up her bony fingers to her mouth and began to cough. It was deep and raspy.
Gil rushed forward and gently lowered her onto the pillow. She faintly whispered her gratitude then closed her eyes. He wondered if she knew that there was a real possibility that he might be joining her soon. She seemed to know everything else about him.
Her coughing continued and the full-time nurse rushed in, glaring at him as if he were a wild beast. She wrapped Melvelene’s sweater tight about her chest, making sure every inch of flesh was covered.
Melvelene slowly lifted her eyelids. “I’ve got to rest now. When do you pitch again?”
“Tomorrow.”
Her eyes fell again, and he wasn’t sure if she heard him, or if she’d ever see him pitch again.
He’d just turned to leave when he heard her rustle on the couch. “You forgot your guitar,” she whispered through closed eyes. “I thought you were going to play for me.”
Gil noticed Eugenia’s neglected guitar in the corner, brought with Melvelene from the rest home. He walked over and quietly lifted it and slipped the cracked leather strap over his shoulder. He strummed a few chords, then began a song from the Eli Young Band, Keep on Dreaming.
“I like that song,” she said.
34
GIL WAITED UNTIL
Austin was off to school and Alicia ran out for a cup of coffee. Keri was still in her robe, her hair pulled back into a ponytail.
“We need to talk,” he said.
She turned her shoulder.
“Keri, I can’t. No, we can’t keep going on like this. I’m here to apologize. Can we sit down?”
He took her hand and led her to the couch. Then he fished for the remote and shut off the television.
Gil gently took her hands in his and looked deep into her blue eyes. “I’m really sorry for what I’ve put you through. I know those photos must have humiliated you. I did know about them and should have told you.”
“I knew.”
“About the photos?”
“Her father sent them over weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were pitching so well, and it was your dream. I didn’t want anything to distract you.”
Gil lowered his head and stared at his heels. “I’m really sorry, Keri, but you have to believe me that they look a lot worse than what really happened. I mean yes, I was watching her take off her shirt, but it was more like, ‘What in the heck are you doing?’ I wasn’t salivating over some teenage girl. I’m not a pedophile.”
Keri smiled again. “Yeah, I know. But you should have told me.”
Gil nodded. “I know, and that’s why I’m here asking for you to forgive me. I’ve got to get this lawsuit settled and stop all the chatter in the press. The noise it’s creating in my head is destroying me.”
“What do you think it’s going to take?”
“Everything we have, plus everything I’ll earn in the next two years.”
“That bad?”
“They are down to four hundred thousand, but I’m not paying off a robber.”
“I agree.”
“I guess that settles it.”
“You surprised me yesterday. You stood up to old Pastor Ron.”
“Kind of. I didn’t want to create a storm in our living room. I’m afraid he’s not going to get over it. I know him too well. He’s not going to let this go, not until I stop pitching.”
“Which you’re not going to do.”
“Not now. It’s how I can stand up to my father. Pitching is not just something to fill my ego. It’s a journey I’ve got to finish. At the end of all this, I’m going to learn something. My father is right about one thing: God put me on this path, and I’m going to throw until I find out what it is. There’s only one way I’d stop pitching.”
“And that is?”
“If you want me to.”
She squeezed his hand. “No, I want to see you on the mound, tomorrow, and the next week, and all the way to the World Series. If there is one person on the planet who has the determination to get them there, that’s you.”
“You’re not worried?”
“I’m scared to death.” She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. He could feel her bones trembling, and his shoulder felt wet. He sat silently while she wept. Keri eventually raised her head and wiped her eyes. Mascara was smeared on her cheeks.
“There’s no way I could live with myself if I tried to stop you. If your heart is telling you to pitch, then you should do it. Your heart will never lead you wrong. And if you don’t pitch, something within you will die. Besides, Alicia’s a grown woman and Austin’s well on his way. If anything happened to you, I’d be fine. You’ve taught me how to be a fighter.”
“You know what’s funny?” Gil said. “Remember how crazy we were about each other when we first met?”
“Yeah, you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”
“It was kind of fun, wasn’t it?”
She put her arms around him and nibbled on his ear. “We’re alone.”
“That’s just what I was thinking,” Gil said, grabbing her arm.
35
GIL HAD LONG suspected the players’ union orchestrated Shaila’s father’s extortion and the release of the leak of the embarrassing photos to the media.
“Peck, I’m just not sure what to do. This is blackmail. They’re ruining my career, my relationship with my wife, and my reputation.”
“Gil, sitting and doing nothing ain’t gonna work. The Rockies sure as hell won’t help. They probably like all the publicity. We’ve gotta hatch our own scheme; we’ve gotta fight back.’’
The two men sat at Gil’s kitchen table drinking coffee and discussing scenarios. Finally, it was Peck who came up with the plan.
For a week, while Gil was inundated with baseball, Peck lurked outside of the Kites’ home, studying Randall’s daily patterns. Shaila, up at five-thirty on weekdays, showed no signs of any injuries resulting from the crack to her skull. She had her driver’s license, but Kite insisted she couldn’t drive or participate in any of the summer cheerleader workouts. Instead, he drove her to school every morning on his way to work while she quietly watched the girls prepare for the upcoming halftime shows.
The first morning, Peck followed Kite to work, a plastics warehouse across town in Lakewood where he worked until knocking off at three and coming home. Shaila had to bum a ride from another cheerleader, or more often, a football player finishing up in the weight room. The home was covered with shabby, yellow siding and didn’t have a garage. Large maple trees, disfigured from the beatings of late spring snowstorms, filled in the front yard, and a driveway led to the side of the house. It was low-cost housing, neglected and rundown.
The woman of the house worked retail. She slept late and worked until closing. Kite was alone with his daughter for dinner, unless she took off with her friends, which was almost every night.
Peck gave Gil the update. If they were going to strike, it would be tomorrow, on garbage day. After finalizing the plan, Gil agreed. He’d need to give the media the slip, but that was becoming much easier. The predictable routine of life meant that the cameras stopped bothering him as he drove downtown. They’d wait at the stadium before their shutters began clicking.
He met Peck a block away and together they waited on the other side of the street for Kite to park his car. Peck knew Kite would roll the large green garbage can into the backyard, and then enter his home through the sliding glass door. Kite was wearing his normal attire: Baggy jeans with a tight-fitting wife-beater T-shirt. He was a small man, barely five-foot eight, and his arms were spindly yet muscular from his daily lifting of plastic sheets at the warehouse. His arms were covered with tattoos from his military stint. A tuft of black hair protruded from beneath his lower lip.
The moment Kite rounded the corner, Gil and Peck slipped out of his truck and snuck up the driveway. They found Kite busily positioning his garbage can against the siding. Peck motioned for Gil to follow. They’d decided Peck would make the first move, making sure Gil’s arm wasn’t put at risk. Peck was to grab Kite, secure him, then let Gil try to negotiate a settlement. Instead, Peck lowered his shoulder and shot forward, gaining speed and momentum. Just as Kite looked up, Peck hit him, his shoulder driving hard into Kite’s chest. The force of the blow instantly toppled Kite onto the grass. Close behind, Gil heard the breath eke out of Kite’s mouth and his eyes bulged. Peck didn’t wait for his victim to gain his composure, but shoved his forearm underneath Kite’s chin and pushed hard against his windpipe. Gil winced and put his hand on Peck’s shoulder. The gesture was ignored.
Kite tried to grasp for breath, but ended up convulsing. Peck shook his head. “No, I’m not going to let you breathe until you drop this stupid lawsuit of yours.”
In sheer desperation, Kite reached his arms up to grab at Peck’s face, but Peck pushed harder. “No man, don’t do that. You relax, and I’ll let you breathe. Otherwise, you’re going to meet your maker. Understand?”
Kite dropped his hands and nodded. Peck loosened his pressure, but still kept his forearm positioned on top of Kite’s Adam’s apple. Kite sucked in a gulp of air and began coughing. “You’re crushing my chest,” he gurgled.
Gil crouched, making sure Kite could see him.
“I’m afraid Peck’s not getting up, not unless you drop that lawsuit of yours.”
Kite coughed some more, his eyes shifting between the two figures hovering over him. “If you’re going to beat me up, go right ahead. More for the jury to consider. And when I tell the media, your little sham of a baseball career is over.”
“Who says I’m going to beat you up?” Peck interjected. “I’m thinking of killing you. That way you can never enjoy the money. Maybe your wife can, but she’ll be on vacation in the Bahamas with some young stud, and you’ll never be able to open that mouth of yours again.” Peck once more pushed down on Kite’s throat, waited thirty seconds, and then released it. Kite’s face was a bright red.
“Okay, I’ll lower the asking price.”
“No, drop it or no deal,” Gil said, nodding at Peck. “And my deal isn’t looking very good right now.”
“I can’t just drop it. I’ve got to pay my lawyer.”
“You should have thought about that before you filed this silly lawsuit,” Gil said.
“It was my wife’s idea.”
“Sure, throw her under the bus.”
“I’m telling the truth. She said I had to do it.”
“Then she can come up with the money for your lawyer.”
“Come on, Gil, give me some slack. I want this to go away too. All of us do. The school is insured. We thought they’d quickly settle and it would be all over.”
“But then Gil came into some money,” Peck said, “and that changed everything. Right?”
“Something like that. Please, can you get off me?”
“Okay,” Gil said. “But you need to start talking some sense.”
Gil nodded to Peck who finally hoisted himself up using Kite’s chest as a springboard and wiped his hands, still hovering over his victim.
“Do you even care that you’ve ruined his family, ruined his reputation?” Peck said. “You should know that if Gil doesn’t pitch, he doesn’t get paid. And if Gil doesn’t get paid, you don’t either, even if you win the lawsuit.”
“But the photos tell the truth.”