Heart of the Game Page 22

  Now, in the bottom of the twelfth inning with the bottom of the order up to bat, the Cubs looked to go down easy, meaning they’d have to play a thirteenth frame. Even if someone ended things in the next twenty minutes, she wouldn’t get out of here until almost eight, too late for dinner, too late to go downtown with a three-year-old, too late to salvage the weekend.

  She stood, grabbed her tablet, and headed for the door.

  “Piss break?” Cooper asked. “Are the women’s rooms here any nicer than the men’s rooms?”

  “From what I hear, they couldn’t possibly be worse.”

  He let out a snort of a laugh that shook his beer gut.

  “I’m going to stretch my legs and get some quotes from the crowd.”

  “Take your time. It doesn’t look like anything’s happening here for a while.”

  Duke prayed that wasn’t the case, but either way she owed Molly an apology.

  She wandered through concrete corridors and under exposed beams until she stepped into the late-day sun. The field was captivating in this light, but she didn’t have time to marvel at the view.

  “Molly,” she called, coming up behind them.

  She turned the best she could with Charlie on her lap, the frustration and exhaustion in her deep brown eyes visible even from a distance.

  “I’m so sorry,” Duke said as soon as she got close enough to be heard in a regular voice.

  Molly sighed. “I know it’s not your fault, but this isn’t the family trip you promised.”

  “I know, and I mean it. I’m sorry the game has gone on so long.”

  “It’s not just the game. It’s you being out until midnight last night and all of us spending all day here today.”

  “Come on, the Wrigley tour this morning was good family time. Joe loved it.”

  “I did,” Joe said enthusiastically. “This place is amazing.”

  “See? He’s having a great time.”

  “What about Charlie? He’s been confined in a car, then in a hotel room, now in a stadium seat for hours, and he got nothing out of the tour.”

  “I know, and I also know it’s been hard on you.”

  “I’m sorry if you want me to say it hasn’t, but it’s hot and I’m tired, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep Charlie from climbing the outfield ivy.” Molly shook her head. “I know you think I’m supermom, but there’s only so much I can do.”

  She could clearly hear the warring emotions in Molly’s voice, anger, exhaustion, the attempt to be understanding butting up against the realities of her situation. Duke didn’t blame her for wanting out. “Why don’t you guys go to Navy Pier without me?”

  “Really?” Molly snapped. “You want me to load Charlie onto public transportation after he’s been cooped up all day and haul him downtown only to let him loose on a crowded pier that juts out onto Lake Michigan all by myself?”

  She rubbed her forehead. “When you put it that way, it sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

  “Because it is.” Molly fanned herself with a program.

  Duke’s shoulders sagged. Navy Pier was out. Tomorrow was another early game, and they needed to get on the road as soon as possible afterward. They were out of options. Guilt weighed heavily on her chest.

  “And it’s so hot.”

  “How about some snow cones?”

  “Yes, because sugar ice is always a good idea when trying to keep a child in his seat.”

  “Okay, I get it. You’re in hell right now.”

  “Hell’s a bad word,” Charlie shouted, causing several people around them to laugh.

  “I’m sorry, Charlie, you’re right. Molly, why don’t you go back to the hotel?”

  “And do what? Watch the game on TV? Order a pizza? We could’ve done that at home. I took off work, dragged my kids all the way to Chicago, and all we’ve seen is Wrigleyville. I’ve eaten nothing but hot dogs for two days. Great hot dogs, but still, you promised more than a hotel and a baseball game.”

  “I don’t know what else you want me to say. This is what I do for a living, and more than that, it’s what I love.”

  “I love it, too,” Joe said, causing Molly and Duke to exchange a look that clearly said they shouldn’t be having this conversation in front of him, but he went on. “I don’t care about Navy Pier. This is the best vacation I’ve ever been on. I got to spend all day at one of the coolest ballparks ever. My favorite team played their biggest rival, and it’s so close I get to watch extra innings.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Duke said with a little grin.

  “Me too, honey,” Molly said softly.

  “No, you’re not,” Joe continued. “You two are arguing about being hot and having to work. You don’t understand. It’s like heaven, and you’re not even enjoying it with me.”

  Emotion clogged Duke’s throat. She used to be able to enjoy a game without worrying about the start time, or the weather, or what extra innings would mean for a bedtime schedule. She always took her job seriously, but she’d never considered it work. Writing about baseball was a labor of love. When had it become an inconvenience? Of course she felt terrible for the ways in which the Cardinals schedule wrecked Molly’s, but the game wasn’t just her career. It lived in her heart. Joe could see that so clearly. Why couldn’t Molly?

  “You’re right, Joe,” Duke said solemnly, then turned back to Molly, meeting her eyes, searching for some deeper level of understanding. “This isn’t the trip I planned, and I am sorry, but it’s not hell-er-Hades either. This game is a big part of who I am and what I love.”

  “I know.” Molly held her gaze, a pleading of her own evident in her eyes. “But I’m asking you now, if this game has your heart and your mind, where does that leave room for us?”

  The question that had hovered over them for days, if not weeks, had finally been asked. Her chest ached as her father’s voice sounded in her ears. “You can’t give a hundred percent to two different things.”

  The clouds of tension between them were near suffocating as she struggled through the haze of heat and sadness tinged with anger. It was the perfect storm, and she didn’t know why she didn’t anticipate the lightning. She was so engrossed in Molly she didn’t even see it. She heard the thunder, though, a loud crack of taut leather against plastic reverberating through the park, followed by a dull thud and a collective gasp.

  She wheeled around to see Cayden Brooks lying in a cloud of red dust.

  A flood of players spilled onto the field. Instinctively Duke grabbed her tablet and began to film. She zoomed in on the melee of players pushing and shoving. Umpires shouted and tried to get between them. Both benches had cleared into the middle of the infield. At the plate, trainers from both teams helped Cayden Brooks to his feet and led him out of the way. Duke turned the camera to him and saw for the first time the crack in his helmet, just above the ear.

  “Shit,” she swore under her breath. The ball had hit him in the head, an inexcusable mistake to make. Rage boiled up under her skin as she noted the glassy sheen of disorientation and the unfocused gaze, clear warning signs of a concussion. A hit like that could end a young career, and if she could’ve thrown a punch just then, she might have ended her own.

  Shutting off the video, she flipped over to social media and tried to block out the sounds of the crowd cheering, jeering, and booing, like they couldn’t make sense of everything happening at once. The brawl continued as she attempted to type her view of what was happening. Molina swung at a Cubs player, who had him by the jersey. Ben LeBaron elbowed the Cubs first baseman with his non-pitching arm. A Cub player chest-bumped an umpire, all offenses that carried automatic suspensions if the league ever sorted this out. The fight wouldn’t just change the course of the game. It could change the entire rest of the season.

  Duke finally turned back to Molly, who cradled Charlie’s head on her shoulder, covering his ears from the noise. She turned to Duke, whose face had gone as red as his jersey. Shit. Their jerseys.
They clearly marked them as Cardinals fans in an increasingly hostile crowd.

  “You have to get out of here,” Duke shouted. “Get the kids back to the hotel and stay there.”

  All the blood drained from Molly’s face. “Are we safe?”

  “No one will purposely hurt a mother and two young kids, but fights will break out in the stands and maybe in the streets. Language, beer bottles, pushing—I…I don’t know.” God, how could she have put them in this situation? She should escort them back to the hotel, but she couldn’t leave now. She had to get back to the booth.

  “Are you coming with us?” Molly asked as she swung Charlie’s diaper bag onto her shoulder and caught hold of Joe’s arm.

  “I’ll get you out of the stadium.”

  They wove as quickly as they could through the crowds on the outer concourse. Once they were inside, the path got easier as most of the rowdy spectators were still fixated on the fight.

  They reached the front gate as someone shouted, “The Cardinals fucking suck!”

  Molly turned around to look, but Duke nudged her forward. “Go.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m going back to the booth. I’ll be fine. Text me when you’re in the room.”

  Molly nodded grimly. “When will you be home?”

  “Late. Very late.”

  The anger returned to burn her cheeks and force her pretty lips into a hard pale line.

  “I’m so sorry, Mol. I’ll make everything up to you.”

  “You keep saying that, but when?”

  “Now isn’t the time for that discussion.” And even if it were, she wouldn’t have the answer. “Please, be patient and have a little bit of faith in me.”

  Molly shook her head, then squeezed Duke’s hand. “Just get home safe tonight. We’ll talk about how much longer this can go on later.”

  *

  Duke opened the hotel room door as quietly as possible and tried to squeeze through a tiny opening to minimize the cone of light from the hallway. They’d given the boys the double bed closest to the door in the hopes of distancing them from the noise of the street outside, but she imagined the hotel hadn’t exactly been quiet tonight either. If she woke the kids up at one a.m., after everything they’d been through today, Molly would kill her—and she’d deserve it. Honestly, she feared Molly might want to strangle her anyway, so she didn’t really want to wake her up either.

  Hopefully they’d all stay asleep and never know how late she’d had to work. She shut the door, easing the handle back in to place in super slow motion, then inched her way into the bathroom and repeated the same painstakingly quiet motions there. Only when the door was fully sealed did she turn on the light.

  She closed her eyes against the blaze of light, but when she opened them Molly was sitting directly in front of her.

  “Holy shit.” Duke jumped back and Molly sprang to her feet to cover her mouth.

  “Shh,” she whispered. “Don’t wake the boys.”

  Duke’s heart raced for about the fifth time that day and she worried her arteries couldn’t handle this sustained barrage of adrenaline. “God, you scared me.”

  “Good. You deserve it for what you put me through today.”

  “Really? You hid in the bathroom for hours so you could give me a punishment heart attack?”

  Molly snorted. “No, that was just an added bonus.”

  Duke rubbed her face and glanced in the mirror. God, she felt as tired as Molly looked. They had a lovely set of hers-and-hers red-ringed eyes, and the fluorescent hotel light did nothing for the pallor of either of their skins. This horrible day had gone on so long, it had now become a horrible tomorrow. She ached to go to bed and wake up in a different time and place, but Molly waiting in the bathroom half the night didn’t bode well for a swift or easy surrender to darkness. “I guess we need to talk about what happened.”

  “We really do,” Molly said quietly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are.”

  “I had planned for this whole trip to go so much better.”

  “I know you did.”

  “I wanted to come home sooner, Mol.”

  “But you didn’t, and maybe it’s better that way,” Molly admitted, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub. “I was so mad at you when we left the game I don’t even remember walking home. I could hardly see through the red tingeing my vision.”

  “I sure hope there is a ‘but’ coming in this story.”

  Molly’s mouth quirked up for just a second. “Not yet. You were the one who pushed for this vacation. You sold me on this great cultural outing filled with family time and nice dinners.”

  “I know, Molly, and I tried—”

  Molly held up a hand. “Let me finish, I’ve had four hours to lie here and think about this. Let me get it out.”

  Duke nodded and leaned against the sink to steady herself. Her legs wanted to give way and her head throbbed, but Molly deserved to be heard.

  “My fuse had already burned down to a nub when you came down to see us, and instead of getting a sincere apology or some helpful advice, you wrote me off as not understanding your love of the game. That felt really unfair given everything I’d gone through in the last forty-eight hours. Then the fight broke out, and it felt like you just pushed us out of the way.”

  Duke hung her head. She wished she could have the moment back. Molly’s first instinct had been to protect the boys, and what had she reached for? Her camera. “I didn’t mean to just push you out of the stadium, Molly. I know it might have looked like I was in a hurry to get back to work, but really I just wanted—needed—for you and the boys to be safe.”

  “I understand that now.”

  “Really?” Duke waited for the “but” on that statement, too.

  “Yeah, as much as I hate to admit it, once the boys fell asleep, and I had a chance to breathe again, I started thinking about you back in the stadium with all those angry drunk fans. And when I saw the Cardinals won the game, I started to think about how hard it would be to get out of there, how resentful the fans in the street would be. I worried about all the things you said I had to get the boys away from.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “Why not? Maybe I don’t worry about you hearing bad language, but you could get in the middle of someone else’s fight. You could get hit with a beer bottle. You could get attacked, probably easier than we could. You didn’t have any little kids with you, and you don’t always come across as a woman even. What if some drunk thug thought you were a guy, or worse, recognized you as that gay sportswriter he says awful things about online?” Molly shuddered and Duke went to her, pulling her into her arms.

  “I’m right here, nothing happened to me.” She inhaled the scent of her shampoo and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry you worried. I wish my job wasn’t so hard on you.”

  “It doesn’t have to be like this all the time, does it?”

  “No, it’s usually not.” She said what she hoped was the truth. “Today was crazy. This whole weekend was crazy.”

  “Extraordinary circumstances,” Molly murmured. “I’m trying to be understanding of that.”

  “And I appreciate it, Molly. I really do. You’re the best, I can’t tell you how much it means to hear you understand.”

  “I’m trying to. It’s hard to stay mad when all I could think about was how much I wanted to see you come home safely.”

  “I’m here now, and I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for doing your job.”

  Duke’s chest expanded, filled with gratitude and relief and so much adoration for this woman. She’d put her through so much this weekend, tested her patience and her resolve, and she’d still forgiven her. No—more than forgiven: she’d understood. It had not been their finest hour, or forty-eight hours, but Molly had given her the green light to keep doing what she loved. She didn’t have to choose between her and the game.

  �
��Thank you, Molly.” She kissed down to her ear and along her jaw. “I know it’s a long, hard season, but I really am going to make it worth the grind, for you. I promise.”

  “Good, and you can start fulfilling that promise tomorrow. Right now, I want to be in bed with you. Sleeping.”

  She grinned. “For the first time all weekend, you’ll get no argument from me.”

  Bottom of the Seventh

  You Win Some, You Lose Some

  “Charlie, where are your socks?”

  “In my shoes,” he said without looking up from his bowl full of dry Cheerios.

  “Logical, I suppose,” Molly admitted, “but your shoes aren’t on your feet. So where are those?”

  “In my backpack.”

  “Fair enough.” Molly sighed. She did tell him the new shoes were for preschool, though she hadn’t specified how they were to get there.

  “Joe, will you get your brother’s shoes out of his backpack and on his feet?”

  Molly listened for confirmation as she grabbed a juice box and a bottle of water from the fridge. She put the water in the lion lunch box and the juice in the Cardinals lunch box before closing them both, then realized she’d done that backward and opened them again. Why hadn’t Joe answered yet? “Joe?”

  “What?” he called.

  “Did you hear me ask you to put Charlie’s shoes on him?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Did you do it?”

  Silence.

  Molly grabbed the lunch boxes and deposited them by the backpacks near the front door, then turned back to the living room. “Joseph Landon Grettano, what on earth could be so engaging you’d ignore me completely?”

  Joe looked up from the family computer. “I’m reading.”

  Molly fished a pair of tiny sneakers out of a miniature backpack. “Do I even need to ask what you’re reading about?”

  “Mom, the Cardinals are only two games out of first place.”

  “And you, son, are only three days into a new school year. Let’s not build a reputation for being late so early in the game.”