Change-up (5 page)

She’d slipped into full Scarlett O’Hara mode the instant she’d laid eyes on him. She’d never done that with Jamie Whitsitt.

David showed a key card to one of the guards as they approached the hotel entrance and said, “They’re with
me,” hooking a thumb at Stevie and Susan Carol, which was good enough to get them past the guards and through the front door.

Even with all the security, the lobby was crowded. “The restaurant’s in back,” David said. “Dad was hungry, so he’s already eaten. Morra and I waited for you. We’re starving.”

“Me too,” Susan Carol said, almost causing Stevie to gag. He started to say something, then thought better of it.

They walked through the restaurant to a booth in the back. Norbert Doyle stood up when he saw them coming. “Good to see you again, Steve,” he said, shaking hands. “Obviously, this is Susan Carol. Nice to finally meet you. I’m glad David found you.” He turned to the girl sitting on the inside of the booth. “This is my daughter, Morra. Morra—Steve and Susan Carol.”

Stevie could tell right away she was David’s twin. She had long light brown hair, bright blue eyes, and the same friendly smile.

“Nice to meet you both,” she said.

Stevie was determined not to let her pretty face affect him as obviously as a handsome one had affected Susan Carol. He was here to do an interview—not flirt.

“You both must be very proud of your dad,” he said.

“Let’s all sit down,” Norbert Doyle said, sliding in next to his daughter.

True to her word, Susan Carol ordered a second breakfast when David and Morra ordered. Norbert asked for coffee, as did Stevie.

“So, where do we begin?” Norbert Doyle asked after the
orders had been taken. He turned to Susan Carol. “I sincerely doubt we can say anything that will match your Buckner story. It was all anyone was talking about on local TV and radio this morning.”

“What an amazing story,” David said to her. “I read your stuff all the time.”

“Why, thank you, David,” Susan Carol drawled. “That is
so
nice of you to say.”

Stevie smiled what he hoped was a professional smile. He had a feeling this was going to be a long day.

THINGS ACTUALLY WENT A LOT BETTER
once Stevie took his tape recorder out and started asking questions. Even putting aside how long it had taken him to make it to the big leagues, Norbert Doyle was not your typical professional athlete in many ways—most of them good fodder for a story.

He had grown up in Springfield, Massachusetts—a Red Sox fan—and had signed a contract with the hated New York Yankees right out of high school when they picked him in the thirty-fifth round of the draft. “Most kids who get drafted that low don’t sign, they go to college,” he said. “But at that point in my life, I thought school was boring. All I really wanted was to play baseball—even if it meant playing for the Yankees.”

He had bounced all around the minor leagues over the years. On six different occasions he had been released, and he had pitched for teams belonging to the Yankees, the Blue Jays, the Angels, the Rockies, the Mets, the Marlins, the Red Sox, the White Sox, the Devil Rays, the Padres, and the Reds before the fateful trade to the Nationals that had finally gotten him to the majors.

“I was close on a few occasions,” he said. “Or at least I thought I was. In ’01 I thought I was going to make the Mets roster out of spring training. I pitched fourteen innings that spring and gave up one run. I thought I had the team made until they told me there was a kid they had acquired in the Rule Five draft who they had to keep, so I ended up back in Triple-A, at Tidewater.”

“What’s the Rule Five draft?” Stevie asked.

“It’s a draft they hold in the winter for minor-league players,” Norbert explained. “If a team takes a player, they have to keep him on their major-league roster that season or return him. A lot of times teams will take a chance on a younger player they know isn’t ready and keep him around a season, so when he
is
ready, they’ll still have his rights. I guess the most famous Rule Five draft pick was when the Pirates took Roberto Clemente from the Giants.”

“Sounds like you should have gotten someone to take
you
in that draft,” Susan Carol said, causing David Doyle to laugh—at least Stevie thought—a little too hard.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Norbert said. “But once you hit about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, no one even looks at you during that draft.”

That was pretty much when he knew, he said, that he was probably destined to be what was known as an organization player, signed by teams to fill out minor-league rosters and not really considered a major-league prospect.

“I had to take a hard look at my life about then,” he said. “I had two kids, and I knew I could play awhile longer, but I wasn’t going to get rich, and I wasn’t going to be one of those guys who retires and does TV or doesn’t need to work. So I went to college.”

He enrolled during the off-seasons at Springfield College and found that he loved it then as much as he had hated it as a kid. It took him eight winters to get his degree, but by then he was hooked, and so he went on for a master’s degree in English literature at Boston University. “My specialty,” he said, “is English and Irish poets. Which means I’ve read a lot of great stuff, but I’m still not sure how I’m going to make a living when I’m done with baseball. I need to finish my dissertation this winter to get the degree.”

“Teaching?” Stevie suggested, amazed that someone would
want
to read poetry, but impressed nonetheless.

“I hope so,” Norbert said. “I’d enjoy that.”

Stevie asked about Norbert’s wife. Was she here in Boston too?

As soon as he saw the look on all three Doyles’ faces, he knew he’d made a mistake. It suddenly occurred to him that when he’d read the postseason media guide handed out by the Nationals, there had been a mention of David and Morra but no mention of Norbert’s wife.

“My wife passed away,” Norbert said softly.

“Oh, I’m
so
sorry,” Stevie said, feeling sick to his stomach. “I didn’t know….”

“It’s okay,” Norbert said, waving his hand. “It was twelve years this August, but it still feels like yesterday. It’s not something we like to talk about often, but it’s part of our lives.”

“Was she ill?” Susan Carol said, much to Stevie’s relief, because he wasn’t sure he had the guts to ask any more questions on the topic.

Norbert shook his head. “No. It was an accident. A drunk driver. I was playing Class A ball in Lynchburg, Virginia, at the time and was just beginning to wonder if it was time to give up the dream. We were on our way home from dinner when it happened….”

His voice trailed off. Stevie could see that both David and Morra had tears in their eyes. He didn’t blame them. This wasn’t the way he had envisioned the interview either.

“You were in the car too?” he asked.

“Yes,” Norbert said very softly. “I got off with a broken collarbone and cuts and bruises. And she was killed. It wasn’t fair.”

“Dad, stop,” Morra said. “Do we have to talk about this?”

Norbert looked at his daughter and forced a smile. Stevie knew he should probably have a follow-up question, but he couldn’t think of anything to ask that wouldn’t sound morbid or prying. He looked at Susan Carol, but she was looking away, as if something on the other side of the room had caught her attention.

“Of course not,” he said to Morra. “I really apologize ….”

Norbert shook his head. “Don’t apologize. It’s a logical question to ask. The worst part, to be honest, is that the kids were so young they don’t really remember her.”

“I remember her giving us baths,” Morra said quietly. “At least, I think I do.”

“She used to sing me to sleep,” David added.

“We’ve done a pretty good job of sticking together and getting through things,” Norbert added. “I know that’s what Analise would have wanted. That’s why the kids travel with me whenever they can. When they’re in school and I’m on the road, my brother and his wife take care of them for me. But I miss them a lot when I’m away.”

The story, Stevie realized, had taken a turn he hadn’t expected. Time to switch gears.

“So, Morra, David, sounds like you travel with the team a lot,” he said. “Tell me what that’s like.”

Morra thought for a moment and then laughed. “It’s a whole lot different up here in the majors than the minors,” she said.

“Charter planes instead of charter buses,” David said. “Dad’s been given more stuff—gloves, bats, caps, even
socks
—in the last two months than the whole time he was in the minors.”

“Pretty close to true,” Norbert said, nodding.

“They even put your number on your socks,” David added.

“Why do you think they do that?” Susan Carol asked, suddenly curious.

“I asked that myself,” Norbert said. “It’s so they can tell whose socks belong to whom when they do laundry.”

“So they do your laundry for you?” Stevie said.

“They do
everything
for you,” Norbert said. “When we go on a road trip like this one, there’s a clubhouse kid assigned to me—just to me—to make sure all my uniforms and equipment and anything I need gets into a trunk and gets on the plane. When I drive to the airport to meet the team, there’s no security check and I just hand my bags to someone, and the next time I see them is in my hotel room.”

“On this trip they had a charter for the families,” David said. “It was amazing.”

“A little different than Sumter or Boise or Greensboro, that’s for sure,” Norbert said. He laughed. “It was in Sumter that my battery blew in hundred-and-five-degree heat, and I didn’t have enough money to buy a new one. I had to go around the clubhouse and …”

He stopped in midsentence. Nationals manager Manny Acta was approaching the table.

For a second Stevie wondered if maybe they’d lingered too long and Acta didn’t like the idea of one of his players spending so much time with a couple of reporters on the morning of game two of the World Series. But he had a smile on his face as he approached. “Talking to my favorite kid reporters, huh, Norby?” he said as he walked up. Both Stevie and Susan Carol had spent some time with Acta during the playoffs, and he’d always been accommodating and accessible.

“Telling them about every city I ever played in,” Norbert said. “That takes a while.”

Acta laughed. “We play at eight-thirty tonight,” he said. “I’m not sure there’s enough time.”

He shook hands with Stevie and Susan Carol and said hello to the Doyle kids, whom he clearly knew. He looked at Norbert and said, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

The implication—that he didn’t want to talk to Norbert in front of everyone—was obvious. “Sure, Manny,” Norbert said, clearly a bit baffled.

He and Acta walked across the restaurant and out the door.

“What do you think that’s about?” Susan Carol asked. “I mean, it’s okay for your dad to be interviewed now, isn’t it?”

“Sure, it’s okay,” David said. “I have no idea what this is about.”

They sat quietly for a moment. Stevie wanted to say again how sorry he was about their mother but decided it wasn’t a good idea. Susan Carol broke the silence by asking what sports David and Morra played. Not surprisingly, David said he played basketball and baseball. Morra, as it turned out, was a swimmer. She and Susan Carol launched into a discussion of times and splits and sets that left David and Stevie rolling their eyes at one another. Stevie was extremely relieved when he saw Norbert Doyle walking back toward the table.

“What was that about, Dad?” David said, asking the question for all four of them.

Norbert Doyle sat down, looking a little stunned. “You aren’t going to believe it,” he said. “I don’t believe it.”

They waited. “Ross Detwiler got out of bed this morning and felt something click inside his knee. They think it’s his MCL, but it could be worse. Either way, he can’t possibly start tonight. None of the other starters are close to rested enough, since the LCS went seven games and all the other long guys in the bullpen worked last night.”

Stevie could see that Morra and David’s eyes were popping out. “Dad,” Morra said. “Are you saying …?”

“I’m starting tonight,” Norbert Doyle said. “I’m starting game two of the World Series.”

Stevie and Susan Carol left soon after that. Acta wanted Norbert Doyle to meet with pitching coach Randy St. Claire and catcher Wil Nieves as soon as possible to go over the Red Sox lineup, since he had never faced it. “The good news is, they’ve never faced me either,” he said. “They probably don’t have much of a scouting report, since I wasn’t supposed to be on the postseason roster.”

“You nervous?” Stevie asked.

“Absolutely not,” Norbert said. “What’s about five steps up from nervous? Scared to death? I’d say that’s about right.”

They broke up in the lobby, Norbert heading off for his meeting. Stevie and Susan Carol thanked the Doyle kids, and they all exchanged cell phone numbers. “What a day this is turning out to be for you guys,” Susan Carol said.

“No kidding,” David answered. “To be honest, just seeing Dad introduced on the field last night was pretty huge. I don’t think any of us thought he’d get into a game unless it was ten to nothing one way or the other.”

Susan Carol was beaming. “What a wonderful story.”

Morra shook her head. “It’s wonderful that he’s pitching. But let’s see
how
he pitches.”

“That’s my sister,” David said. “She can find the black cloud in every silver lining.”

“Maybe she’s really
Stevie’s
twin,” Susan Carol said. She was smiling when she said it, but he knew she meant it.

Susan Carol was practically skipping on the way back to the hotel. “I don’t know who I’m happier for right now, Norbert or you,” she said.

“Or David Doyle maybe?” he said.

“Huh?”

“Come on, Susan Carol, you had the full Scarlett O’Hara bit going on back there.”

Susan Carol reddened a little, something he had never really seen her do before. “Well, that was my role here, right? Be nice to David?”

“Yeah, but there’s nice and there’s ‘naaace’—or let’s put it this way, I didn’t think you would enjoy it quite so much.”