Texasville (42 page)

“It’s about time you showed up,” Jacy said. “Your son’s got a no-hitter going.”

Jack was indeed an exceptional young pitcher. On the mound he assumed a deadly, cold, relentless manner and blazed fast ball after fast ball over the heart of the plate. He had no confidence in his fielders and preferred to strike out as many batters as possible.

“How many has he struck out so far?” Duane asked.

“Just about all of them,” Jacy said. “A couple popped up, and one or two got on on errors.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted to be the one who made the errors,” Duane said. “Jack never forgets.”

Shorty opened his eyes and looked at Duane guiltily. Duane ignored him.

“Don’t be so unyielding,” Jacy said. “Pet your old dog.”

Duane hammered Shorty between the eyes a few times with his fist. Shorty stopped looking guilty and looked pleased.

“I said pet him, not brain him,” Jacy said.

“I’m not hurting him,” Duane assured her. “Shorty don’t operate off a brain.”

Jacy seemed relaxed. She scooted closer to him, looked at him curiously, wrinkled her nose, sniffed.

“What have you been doing, Duane?” she asked. “You smell funny.”

Duane immediately became rattled. He had not expected to find Jacy at the ball park. He told himself he should have gone on home, even if Jack was pitching. He could not tell that he smelled any particular way, but under Jacy’s eye he felt very aware of what he had been doing just before he came to the ball park.

“I came from a meeting,” he said. “I think they must have fumigated the courthouse today—getting it spiffed up for the crowds.”

Jacy lifted an eyebrow. “Give me some credit,” she said.

A fat kid swung at a fast ball and rapped a weak grounder to the left-field side of the pitcher’s mound. Jack pounced on it and threw a dead strike to the first baseman. The ball popped out of the first baseman’s glove and sailed like a low pop fly over toward the second baseman. He fumbled it, dropped it, and, in attempting to pick it up, kicked it toward home plate. The fat boy was lumbering down the base path. Jack dashed
over, grabbed the trickling ball barehanded, and raced the fat boy toward first. The first baseman was begging for another throw but Jack ignored him. It became clear that the fat boy had too big a lead. He was going to be safe by half a step. At the last second, instead of throwing the ball, Jack threw himself. He hit the fat boy with something between a tackle and a clip, knocking him off the base path. Jack popped up first, the ball still in his hand, and crossed the bag. Horns were honking, people were yelling, the opposing manager came racing across the infield in protest.

“That a-way, Jack!” Jacy yelled, forgetting the issue of Duane’s smell. She jumped up and clapped. Shorty jumped up and yipped. Thanks to the pickup horns, all of which were blaring, the small crowd made as much racket as a large crowd.

The umpire not only ruled the base runner safe, he awarded him an extra base. Jack’s manager protested. The crowd yelled. Several indignant mothers who had seen Jack resort to similar tactics many times rushed onto the playing field to demand his ouster from the game. The umpire was unwilling to go that far, but the mothers insisted.

“Boo, kill the ump,” Jacy said.

“Shut up,” Duane said. “Jack might hear you.”

“I want him to hear me!” Jacy said. “Didn’t you love the way he tackled that kid?”

“This is baseball, not football,” Duane pointed out.

“I never would have expected you to become such a wimp, Duane,” Jacy said.

Jack, who still had the ball, walked back to the pitcher’s mound calmly, as if accepting the call. Duane knew better. Jack always seemed calm just before he did something unforgivable. He was watching the umpire, waiting for him to turn his back.

“Don’t do it, Jack!” Duane yelled, standing up. “You’ll spoil your no-hitter.”

The umpire turned his back, trying to herd the mothers off the field, and the second he did Jack hit him right between the shoulder blades with the ball.

“That does it, you’re out of the game,” the umpire yelled.

Jack walked up to home plate and threw his glove as high as
he could. It came down on the backstop and stuck there. Then he walked off the field, climbed up in the bleachers and sat down by Jacy, who gave him a big hug and a kiss.

“You were just great,” she said.

“That wasn’t very smart, throwing your glove up on the screen,” Duane said.

“I won’t need it,” Jack said. “I’m never pitching again.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Duane said.

Jacy looked at him hostilely.

“I hope you’re not one of those fathers who insist that their kids play athletics whether they want to or not,” she said.

“No, that’s up to him,” Duane said.

“Well, he just said he wasn’t ever pitching again,” Jacy pointed out.

“I would pitch again if they hadn’t spoiled my no-hitter,” Jack said.

“It wasn’t spoiled,” Duane said.

“Sure it was, there was a runner on second,” Jack said.

“But he didn’t get a hit,” Duane said. “He got on by an error. That doesn’t count against your no-hitter.”

“It’s not a real no-hitter if somebody gets on base,” Jack said. “That first baseman should have his throat cut.”

“Hey,” Duane said. “This is Little League baseball. An error doesn’t mean you should have your throat cut.”

“Not for that,” Jack said. “He’s squirrely. He jacks off for any girl that asks him to.”

“And you don’t?” Duane asked.

“Yuk, of course not,” Jack said. “I just jack off for the top girls.”

“Who would a top girl be?” Jacy asked.

“The prettiest,” Jack said, as if that should be obvious.

“Would I be a top girl if I were still a girl?” Jacy asked.

“Sure,” Jack said.

“That umpire should have his throat cut fifty different ways,” he added.

“You need to learn to control your temper,” Duane said. “What if your team loses because you got thrown out?”

“Be serious,” Jack said. “We’re ahead twenty-six to nothing.”

He got up and strolled off.

“He’s probably gone to look for some top girls,” Jacy said.

Little Mike was attempting to climb out of the bleachers. Since the steps were each roughly his height, he was finding it slow going, but he was going, nonetheless.

“Where’s Karla?” Duane asked.

“I think she went home to beat up her mother,” Jacy said. “Are you getting lonesome without her?”

“Yeah, come to think of it,” Duane said.

“Are you mad at me for kidnapping your family?” she asked.

“Oh, no,” Duane said. “They all do exactly what they want to, anyway. If they all want to live with you, that’s fine. There’s no way I could stop them, anyway.”

“But you do miss them a little, don’t you?” she asked.

“A little,” he admitted.

“I guess you’ll just have to suffer,” she said. “I’m taking Karla and the twins to Europe with me right after the centennial.”

That was a shock—so much of a shock that he could only stare blankly at her.

“For good?” he asked. It didn’t seem unlikely, considering the last few weeks.

“Of course not for good,” Jacy said. “Just for a couple of weeks. It’ll be good for them to see a little bit of Europe. Besides, I need them to help me ease back into a life there.”

“You’re a glutton for punishment,” he said. “Traveling with the twins is the worst ordeal I’ve ever lived through.”

“For you, maybe,” Jacy said. “I’m not uptight, like you are.”

“I’m not uptight,” he protested.

“The hell you aren’t,” Jacy said. “You’re like a wire.”

Little Mike had reached the bottom. He clapped for himself briefly and then started climbing the screen behind home plate. He could get his toes through the wire.

“I might take Dickie to Europe,” Jacy said. “I want him to meet my daughters.”

“Take him,” Duane said. “If he stays around here his wife will probably shoot him. Or if not his wife, then somebody else’s husband.”

“Maybe he’ll fall in love with one of my daughters,” Jacy
said. “Maybe they’ll marry. You and I might have grandchildren in common.”

Duane stepped out of the bleachers and pried Little Mike off the screen before he got too high to reach. Little Mike looked aggrieved but kept quiet.

“I don’t think you understand Dickie,” Jacy said. “Dickie has absolute charm. If I were in the mood for love I wouldn’t let my daughters near him. I’d keep him for myself.

“He’s one in a million, that boy,” she added.

“That’s what the cops think, too,” Duane said. “They’re glad he’s one in a million.”

“You’re not very partisan about your own kids, are you?” Jacy said. “You’re kind of stingy with your praise. You didn’t even cheer for Jack when he tackled that kid.”

“He wasn’t supposed to tackle him,” Duane said. “He can do all the tackling he wants to when football season starts.”

“That’s not the point,” Jacy said. “Your kids are great. You should root for them no matter what.”

“Why aren’t you in the mood for love?” he asked.

Jacy looked amused.

“What does it matter to you?” she asked. “If I were, it’d be Dickie I wanted, not his old man. Dickie’s got more bounce than any five men I know. Plus he has very sweet eyes.”

“He may be totally perfect, for all I know,” Duane said. “I just wondered why you aren’t in the mood for love?”

Jacy looked thoughtful. On the field, Jack’s team was struggling to end the inning. The fat boy had advanced to third on another infield error.

Jacy studied Duane a moment, and then reached over and picked up Little Mike.

“I’m not telling you why, Duane,” she said. “If you want to catch a glimpse of your wife, you better run home and catch it while the catching is good.”

“Are the twins going home with you?” he asked.

“Sure they’re going home with me,” Jacy said.

He stood in the bleachers and watched them go. Julie came over and hooked arms with Jacy. At first he couldn’t spot Jack. Then he saw him. Jack was lying on top of a pickup. As Shorty passed underneath him, Jack bombed him with a strawberry
Sno-Cone. Shorty yipped and tried to get red ice out of his eyes. Jack jumped off the pickup and began to chase him.

Duane waited until the inning was over and persuaded various members of both teams to throw baseballs at the screen until they managed to dislodge Jack’s glove. The fat boy, who had been stranded at third, caught it when it fell.

CHAPTER 62

D
UANE CAME INTO HIS KITCHEN TO FIND MINERVA
dealing blackjack to Jeanette and Casey.

“What a surprise,” he said. “I thought you’d moved off with the rest of the bunch.”

Minerva didn’t look up from the cards. “When you’ve got terminal stomach cancer you want to be with people your own age,” she said.

“I’m not your age but Casey is,” Jeanette reminded her.

“I thought you had terminal brain cancer,” Duane said.

“When I’m gone you’ll be sorry you made fun of me,” Minerva said.

“Is Karla here?” he asked.

“Yeah, she came with me,” Minerva said. “That flimsy little car of hers fell apart.”

Casey seemed to be pouting. He was a poor loser, and he was losing.

“I wish I was in Pecos, Texas,” he said. “I’ve done nothing but lose at cards ever since I let you bring me here.”

“You didn’t let me bring you here,” Jeanette said. “You let
Karla bring you here. I told her she should have left you to rot.”

“I wish I could go back tonight,” Casey said.

“Hit the trail,” Jeanette said. “Hitchhike. We don’t need a sourpuss around here.”

Duane went in the bedroom. Karla, looking rather cheerful, was flopped on the bed watching a James Bond movie.

“What a surprise,” Duane said.

“Duane, don’t try to be witty, I’m watching a movie,” Karla said.

“I didn’t see Junior’s pickup,” he said. “Did he finally go home?”

“You sure don’t keep up very well,” Karla said. “He and Billie Anne ran off to Ruidoso. Dickie’s happy as a lark. He’s already filed divorce papers accusing her of desertion.”

“She might come back, if things don’t work out with Junior,” Duane said.

“Why wouldn’t they work out with Junior?” Karla asked. “Junior’s sweet. Everybody don’t have to be macho, like you.”

“I don’t think I’m macho,” he said.

“I didn’t used to think so, but Jacy explained all your problems to me,” Karla said.

Duane felt annoyed.

“I wish she’d explained them to me, then,” he said. “I just saw her at the ball game.”

“Did Jack do anything awful?” Karla asked.

“Yes,” he said, and waited, but Karla didn’t ask what. She was watching Roger Moore look sophisticated. He was in a ski lodge somewhere in the Alps.

Karla seemed to have a new hairdo. Her hair was cut shorter. She seemed to look younger. Her beautiful skin seemed even more beautiful. The more Duane looked at her the more confused he felt. She had only been gone a few days, and yet she looked a great deal better than she had when she left—and she had looked fine when she left.

“You look great,” he said.

Karla glanced at him, lifted an eyebrow and went on watching the movie.

“Why did Jacy have to explain my problems to you?” he
asked. “She hasn’t seen me in thirty years. You’ve seen me every day for twenty-two years. Why didn’t you explain my problems to her?”

“Duane, she’s lived in Europe, don’t get uptight,” Karla said.

Not an hour before, Jacy had accused him of being uptight.

“I am uptight,” he said. “I can’t help it. I don’t know what’s going on. She says she’s taking you and the twins to Europe. And maybe Dickie too. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Nellie wants to go too,” Karla informed him.

“Why don’t I get to go?” Duane asked. “I’ve never been to Europe. Maybe I’d like to go.”

“And leave your oil well just when you finally got one?” Karla said.

She had a point. He didn’t want to leave his Mississippi. He wanted to drill another one, in fact. But for the sake of argument it was a point he chose to ignore.

“If all you have to do to understand people’s problems is live in Europe, then I want to move there,” he said. “I don’t understand anything. Everything around here is crazy. People run off with one another at the drop of a hat. One kiss and they’re gone.”