The Closer (16 page)

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Authors: Alan Mindell

BOOK: The Closer
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"Didn't seem to matter," she answered solemnly. "Didn't stop her running away."

"Still," he said after a pause. "She's a nice kid."

"She's a sweetheart.... That's what makes this so heartbreaking."

"Maybe it's not too late."

She didn't reply. He was also silent, partly because he had no more to say on the topic, and partly because the wind had blown something in his left eye. They reached the entrance to the parking structure, a two story covered edifice, and took a stairway up one flight.

"Sorry the kids didn't come today," he said.

"They're with my brother."

"Their uncle?"

"Yes, Terry," she winked. "My brother is their uncle."

He tried laughter to mask his embarrassment at being unable to master what was clearly a difficult concept for him. This whole "uncle" thing. A person can have more than one. A brother is automatically an uncle to his sister's children.

She attempted to ease his discomfort, or possibly change the subject, by handing him a cotton handkerchief for the windblown particle still in his eye, which he'd been rubbing intermittently with his fingers for the last minute or two.

"Their uncle..." he said slowly, careful not to utter anything else foolish. "He close to the kids?"

"Not as close as I'd like. He's a doctor and doesn't have much time."

"Married?"

"Divorced...five or six years."

"Any other relatives living here?" he asked, dabbing his eye with the handkerchief.

"No, I've kind of gotten away from family," she said. "The few still alive."

She pointed to her car up ahead, a yellow compact. They had to stop as another car, going too fast for a parking lot, whizzed by. The car belched black smoke, and they waited for the air to clear before resuming.

"Quite a coincidence that you should know Carly," he commented.

"Not so much as you'd think. In my prime I worked with hundreds of kids at a time."

"In your prime...?" he interjected a bit flirtatiously. "You don't look like you're past your prime to me."

She shrugged and appeared a little uncomfortable.

"Not like some broken down relief pitcher," he continued, flexing his right arm and presenting a pained expression, as though the arm hurt.

"Wish we could talk right now," she said, looking no less uncomfortable and glancing at her watch. "But I don't have time."

They reached her car. After unlocking the door, she looked up at him briefly. He felt a sudden impulse to kiss her. Right there in the parking lot, in broad daylight. Of course, he knew she would refuse. But he tried anyway. Surprisingly, she let him. And even kissed him back. In fact, he sensed she didn't want to stop.

"Stay a while," he coaxed, once they finally drew apart.

"No," she sighed. "I can't."

"Gotta go get the kids?"

"Sound instincts," she smiled. "Besides an uncle, you might make a good mother."

They both laughed. As she drove off, he rubbed his left eye once more with her handkerchief.

 

Late that night in his bungalow, Terry had trouble sleeping. Like that night nearly three months ago just prior to discovering Murdoch in trouble. Again, like then, he had the feeling too much was happening in his life, that things were a little out of control.

There were the relationships with all four Rileys and with Murdoch and Carly. With Rick. There was the pennant race. Plus the fact that earlier in the evening he'd recorded his twenty-second straight save, and been invited to appear afterward on postgame television.

"You're being mentioned," announcer Paul Furay had informed him, "as a leading candidate for rookie of the year."

Terry hadn't answered. Fortunately. Probably what he would have said was, if he won the award, he'd no doubt be the oldest recipient in history.

But now, as he tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep, his thoughts centered on one thing. The kiss. What did it mean? Had he and Lauren reached a new plateau? Had she finally revealed her true feelings? Would he be seeing more of her? With and without the children.

Until then, all he'd really had the opportunity to do was admire her. The way she conducted herself. The knowledge and understanding she displayed with kids, especially problem children. The way she'd raised her own children, essentially alone and in the face of catastrophe with the sudden death of her husband.

Lying there in his bungalow, he knew he could no longer be satisfied just admiring her. Plain and simple, he wanted her. All of her.

The kiss had made that unmistakably clear.

Chapter Twenty-One

"Dad, when can I get out of here?" Carly asked the next morning.

"The doctor doesn't want you going yet, honey."

"Why not...? I'm feeling much better."

"There's no hurry."

"But I've been here more than a week," she debated, sitting up in bed.

"He's giving you medication," he said carefully. "To help withdrawal."

"Withdrawal...? Sounds like detox."

"I think that's what he has in mind. He says there's a good program right here at the hospital."

"But that's not what I have in mind," she answered sharply.

"I think you should listen to him."

"I listened to
you
back when we made our deal."

"I know honey. I'm just telling you what he said."

"I'm more interested in what
you
said and us keeping
our
deal."

"Our deal almost killed you," he replied softly.

His comment apparently registered, or maybe she paused because she wasn't feeling quite as strong as she thought. In either case, she lay back and closed her eyes, as if trying to sleep. Then she reopened them and looked up at Murdoch, standing beside the bed.

"Dad, I have something to tell you."

"What, honey?"

"It's about Texas."

"Texas?"

But she paused again, once more closing her eyes. This time Murdoch was nearly certain she'd fallen asleep, since her breathing grew heavy. Her eyes opened though, and he noticed tears in them. Also, that her expression had become very serious, reflective.

"I had a baby in Texas," she said.

He didn't reply.

"I had to give him up," she continued. "No money. No place for us to live."

"What about drugs?"

"That was a problem too."

Murdoch suddenly realized the extent of what his daughter had endured during the three years since he left her and her mother. He reached down and put his arms around her. He held her for several minutes, her initial tears turning into very audible sobs.

 

"Could you meet me at the hospital tomorrow?" Lauren asked Terry over the phone late that night.

"Sure."

"And maybe have lunch afterward..."

"Sure," he said, becoming curious.

"Around eleven?"

"Fine. Bringing the kids?"

"No. I'll get a sitter."

After hanging up, Terry had trouble getting back into the book he'd been reading. This was all new—her phoning, suggesting they meet, making a date for lunch, arranging a sitter for the kids. What did she have in mind?

Was this indication things were heading in the direction he hoped?

 

There were two outs and two on in the bottom of the ninth. Oakland trailed Baltimore 4-3 in what had been a very intense night game. Catcher Chris Bailey, a righty and number nine man in the batting order, was the scheduled hitter. He'd been in a slump and was 0 for 3 tonight. Rick decided to use a pinch hitter.

Clancy Adams was his choice. He strode determinedly to the plate. Unfortunately, he was also right handed, and had to face Jose Tartabull, Baltimore's talented closer, a right hander himself.

Rick had meant what he'd told his players about being happy with the guys they had. About not changing horses in midstream. About team chemistry. And yet, unless he held back one of his starters, he didn't have a single left handed pinch hitter. In this spot, against Tartabull, with the game on the line, he would've loved to have had a lefty.

Adams dug into the box. The Oakland runners led off first and second. Tartabull fired his first pitch, a tough slider over the outside corner at the knees. Adams took it for strike one.

Rick could bemoan Texas and New York picking up new players to strengthen weaknesses. But, he had to laugh. Each team had lost their last four games. Oakland now trailed them both by a mere game and a half.

Tartabull's next pitch was a curve that hung a little as it caught the outside corner. Rick couldn't avoid envisioning a left hander connecting and driving the pitch into right center for a game-ending two run double. The best Adams could do was foul the ball lazily over the Baltimore first base dugout, into the stands. Strike two.

Despite his desiring a lefty, there was no way Rick would want the front office to try and buy a championship. In recent years, while coaching in the minors, he'd seen many major league teams make the attempt and fail miserably, mortgaging their futures in the process. He resented the corporate mentality now seemingly dominating the sport. The concept that possessing resources to acquire the best players was far more important than some basic components of the historical American dream—working hard, developing talent, building from within. Baseball, once so intertwined with that dream, now appeared to be more its antithesis. In the process—as the elderly man Rick met on his San Diego flight had asserted—losing its purity and magic, the aspects Rick so admired. And with them, its very heart and soul.

Tartabull fired his next pitch. It was another curve, outside and in the dirt. Adams took a feeble half swing, and missed. Strike three, three outs, game over.

Rick headed sadly for the locker room. They'd have another game tomorrow night.

 

"Any news about the baby?" Carly asked, sitting up in bed.

"He's doing fine," Lauren reported.

"Good home?"

"Very..."

"In Texas?"

Lauren nodded. So did Carly, but rather glumly. In fact, Terry, standing in the background like during the previous occasion here at the hospital, could see she wasn't very happy. Not that it affected her appearance. Dressed in a new pink bathrobe Murdoch had evidently bought her, she looked even more alert than last time. When he and Lauren had entered the room, she'd even gotten out of bed and hugged them both.

"Any chance I could go see him?" she asked Lauren. "Once I get out of here."

"Not a good idea..."

"But I'm his mother."

"You gave up all rights."

"What would I have to do to get them back?"

"Are you asking for my help?" Lauren answered.

"Yes."

"There's only one way."

"What?"

"I think you know..."

"Go through a drug program," Carly petulantly replied, scowling.

"Correct."

"I can't."

"You can't...? Or you won't...?"

Carly didn't respond.

"I think you're being silly,” Lauren said. "You've got your whole life ahead."

There was silence. Clearly they had reached an impasse. Terry suspected they'd had this same confrontation before. No doubt with the same result.

"A few days ago," Lauren said, "I told you I'd keep in touch, but I won't be able to much longer..."

"Because of me," Carly responded angrily. "Because I won't enter detox."

"No Carly...because of me."

"What do you mean
because
of you?"

"Because..." Lauren said, obviously uncomfortable, glancing briefly at Terry. "Because...because I'm sick."

"Sick? What do you mean...sick?"

"Just as I said. I'm sick."

"But you're going to get better," Carly said, clearly alarmed.

"No Carly. According to the doctors... I'm not."

"You're not going to...to..."

"It doesn't look good..."

Lauren's voice tailed off and silence ensued. The horrified look on Carly's face perfectly expressed Terry's feelings. When tears ran down her cheeks, he also felt like crying. He kept glancing at Lauren, hoping for some indication this was all a dreadful mistake. Her somber expression told him it wasn't.

"So you see," Lauren said, "why I think you're being silly. You've got your whole life ahead, so don't throw it away."

Another silence. Murdoch picked that moment to pop into the room, transferring attention to himself. Unquestionably, very much to the others' relief.

"We'll leave you with your dad now," Lauren said, then gave Carly a hug.

"Will you come back?" Carly asked. "I mean...as long as you're able."

"Yes," Lauren responded. "I'll come back."

After saying good bye to Murdoch and Carly, Terry followed Lauren out of the room. As they walked down the corridor, numerous questions ran through his mind. He didn't know where to begin, and was actually thankful she spoke first.

"Let's not say anything now. Let's just go find a nice place to talk."

They took his rental car. Neither of them uttered more than half a dozen words until they arrived at the restaurant he picked out a little more than an hour ago on his way to the hospital. For the lunch date she'd called him about.

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