Chapter 2

My first road trip with the Keys was a brief one — visiting Wilmington, Delaware for three games and then playing Prince William (Virginia), just outside the District of Columbia, three more on their turf.

My teammates were mostly agreeable sorts, and I tried out my half-assed high school Spanish on some of the guys from the Dominican Republic and other Caribbean locales. It was fun playing every day (although surprisingly taxing, physically) and I continued to feel optimistic about the future.

By the end of June the weather had become reliably warm and my career was going nicely. I was hitting .297 and had eleven runs batted in after twenty-two games, from my (now) seventh spot in the lineup. If I’d had more speed, Sal Bishop told me, I’d make a great leadoff man, but with my lack of a quick start, I was never going to be much of a base-stealing threat. I didn’t have a lot of power either, but my very good glove and maybe eventually hitting over .300 was possibly going to take me a good way.

When the local college’s semester ended in mid-June, the boarding house suddenly became empty except for two of the other boarders, me, and Emily herself. I hadn’t given this possibility much thought when first arriving in town, and now I went to Emily to ask whether my continuing tenancy was going to mess up her personal life.

“I had assumed more of the boarders would be here over the summer,” I told Emily. “Now it seems to be just two others and me. Is that going to be a problem?”

Emily assured me that it would not be a concern. Mabel, the live-in cook, would have a much-reduced workload, but would still be preparing meals. I also would be welcome to prepare meals for myself in the well-stocked kitchen.

On a rare home date when we had no game scheduled, I invited Emily to join me for a restaurant meal. She accepted and drove us both several miles out of Frederick to a country inn where, at my request, she had arranged reservations. The meal turned out to be far finer than anything I had expected from any in-town restaurant, and we lingered afterward over wine that was of a quality I had seldom experienced.

“This is my very first time out for a good meal with anyone since Roger — Mr. Farnsworth — died,” Emily told me. “I’d forgotten how enjoyable it is.”

“I think our meals at your place are always excellent,” I offered, “but you’re right, this was special.”

Emily blushed a little, then looked at me and said, “Some of the boarders probably mentioned to you that Mr. Farnsworth and I were ... an item.”

I didn’t play it coy. “I think I heard something along those lines, yes,” I said.

“Roger and I were never madly in love, you understand,” she said. “But we were highly compatible and we ... filled a need for one another. When I first met Roger, my husband had been dead for well over a year. I missed him terribly, and I guess I ... needed someone. Well, no guessing about it. I really did need someone.”

“You were still a young woman.”

“Not really. I was already in my forties when my husband died. And at that time, I think that I anticipated probably spending the remainder of my life alone. When Roger Farnsworth came along, I surprised myself, somewhat, with my ... my neediness.”

“Understandable,” I said.

“It wasn’t just the sex,” Emily said, lowering her voice so as not to be overheard by our fellow diners. “It was more the ... the warmth. Someone to be with me in that big, lonely bed.”

“Yes.”

“But I shouldn’t say ‘just’ the sex, either,” Emily told me, her face reddening a little with embarrassment. “The sex with Roger turned out to be ... important to me.”

“Of course it was,” I said.

“How old are you?” Emily asked me suddenly.

“I’ve just turned twenty-three,” I said.

“My God!” She seemed truly embarrassed. “Here I sit, telling a twenty-something my innermost secrets. It must be laughable for you, hearing all this.”

“I’m not laughing, Emily. I know I’m pretty young, but I’m well-aware that people don’t just dry up and blow away when they hit forty.”

She laughed. “Yeah, but how about fifty?”

“Or fifty, either. Loneliness, and the need for the touch of another person? Come on! Those are universals. They don’t ever really go away. I’ve lived enough to know that much.”

She smiled broadly. “I like you, Randy Sinclair. You’re very comforting — and comfortable — to talk to. Maybe you ought to consider a career in psychotherapy.”

“All of us — no matter our age — are going to have bouts with loneliness,” I told her. “I felt it acutely sometimes while in college, away from my family. I had never thought that my life before college had been all that fulfilling, but compared to being alone, it was like I had been a social butterfly earlier!”

“I haven’t noticed you getting out much to see to your own social life,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve seen you with anyone since you got here last month.”

“That’s true. Well, our playing schedule can really interfere, big time, with meeting anyone. All that travel to little towns all over the Carolinas. Even when we’re at home for a spell, when am I going to date anyone?”

“Haven’t you met even one likely young thing at the ballpark, flirting with you from the stands?”

“Oh, there are some young girls who hang around the park, and we all flirt with them. Some of them are attractive, but most are awfully young.”

Emily laughed. “Too young for a twenty-three year old?”

“Actually, yes,” I said. “You’ve really got to be careful. Some of these girls look all grown up, but on investigation, they can be ridiculously young — like fourteen!”

“Jailbait.”

“Jailbait for years to come,” I agreed. “Baseball Annies, looking to land themselves a live ballplayer who, maybe, has a big payday in his future. I’ve seen dozens of attractive females here, and I’ve even met a few. But I’m consciously avoiding involvement.”

“I imagine that you have to work pretty hard,” she said, “and I know the travel must be a grind. But you don’t strike me as any kind of monk. I’ve seen you spending a little time with Ron and some of the other boarders, and you always seem ... I don’t know ... relaxed and ... content.”

I laughed. “I think most of that is my continuing enjoyment of the fact ... the relief ... of not being a student anymore, and of actually getting paid for playing ball.”

“So now you’re enjoying your freedom.”

“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”

Emily laughed. “Thank you, Kris Kristofferson. You know, I’ve never been certain I really understood what the dickens he meant by that phrase.”

“It’s kind of a deliberate overstatement, would be my guess. But it’s one of those ideas that you don’t have to comprehend — or even agree with entirely — to sort of like. To me, freedom’s a whole lot better than just having nothing left to lose. But it really does turn out be a hard-to-define concept.”

“The word gets misused a lot, too,” Emily said. “‘Freedom, ‘ I mean. It seems to have been co-opted somewhat by political groups, some of which don’t really seem that committed to my own idea of ‘freedom.’”

“I know what you mean. Sometimes ‘freedom, ‘ and ‘liberty’ both seem just to mean, to particular people, ‘Don’t interfere with the one idea that I happen to believe in the most fervently.’”

“Hey, we’re starting to sound like a couple of radicals,” Emily said, smiling.

“Not me.”

“No. Not me, either,” she said. “Although I am a peacenik.”

I didn’t respond and Emily shifted the conversation. “Hey,” she said, turning serious, “I envy you. Just starting your life, and so completely in charge of yourself. You seem to have a lot of direction for a young man.”

“I want to be a successful pro,” I said. “It’s a long shot, and it’s easy to fail at it, but I feel really grateful to have been good enough to at least get my shot. I’m going to work hard, give it all I’ve got, and see what happens. If I’ve got the goods, it’ll work out. If I’m not good enough, eventually I’ll admit it to myself and go try something else.”

“And no time for romance with some young girl who wants to get married and start a family.”

“That’s right. At least not until I have a lot better idea of how far I can go with this.”

“Understandable,” Emily said, “but don’t put your real life off too long, Randy. Being twenty-something doesn’t last very long at all. What’s that song? Something about, ‘ ... Look around, look around, and you’re a young man, with babes of your own.”

“The way to avoid having babes of my own,” I told her, smiling, “is not having babes up in my room.”

“You’re going to go for total abstinence?”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to hold out that long,” I told her, laughing. “Let’s just say I’m trying not to start anything I can’t finish.”

We dropped the subject at that point, both of us probably realizing it was getting a little personal. I was tempted to ask Emily what her own plans were, now that Mr. Farnsworth was no longer in the picture. But her plans, if she had any, weren’t really any of my business. And I knew that her most likely answer would be that she had no plan. Just as she had said about herself when her husband had died, she probably was once again planning to “spend the remainder of my life alone.” Women, I knew, saw themselves as having a lot less freedom than men did to go out and make things happen romantically. This man — Roger Farnsworth — had come along at a fortuitous time for her.

How likely was it for that kind of lightning to strike again? Now, Emily Chambers was several years older than when she’d been left a forty-something widow. The odds now — more than ever — were stacked against her.

It would be a shame, though, if Emily had to go through the remainder of her life alone. She was a fine-looking woman. She had a great sense of humor, and seemed to adore the company of her young college-age boarders. It was remarkable to me how much time and energy she devoted to meeting their needs. And at the rates we were paying, she practically qualified as a non-profit organization.