Chapter 13: You’re Like a Unicorn

Saturday February 27

Now that Moose could officially coach us, he had me come in for more batting practice. Today I was in early because I’d told Moose I had to attend a Town Hall meeting with Governor Higgins. Moose grudgingly agreed to my coming in early as a compromise, but I knew he wasn’t overly happy about it.

“I like what you’ve done to improve your batting. I want to make a few tweaks and add to your skills to make you a more well-rounded batter.”

I knew that Moose had been doing this for over a quarter of a century, so I would listen to what he had to say.

“Yes, sir.”

I think he secretly hated it when I called him ‘sir.’ Moose was more of a shot-and-beer kind of guy, so he just tolerated my ingrained upbringing.

“What I’m going to suggest is minor stance change. You’re a tall guy. Umpires are used to calling balls and strikes a certain way. If I were an opposing coach, I’d direct my pitchers to feed you a steady diet of low pitches out of the zone to see if I could pick up some calls they would make on shorter boys. What I suggest is that you bend your knees a little more so you can get to the lower pitches better.

“This will also help you with higher pitches. One of the best ways to get a hitter to pop up is to throw above his hands,” Moose said.

“I don’t understand.”

Moose had me make a few practice swings.

“Now stop over the plate,” he ordered.

I swung the bat until it was over the center of the plate and held it there.

“This is your natural swing,” Moose pointed out.

Moose stepped in front of the plate with a baseball and held it an inch over my bat.

“What are you going to do to hit this ball?” he asked.

“I’ll have to adjust my swing,” I said.

“Show me.”

I swung the bat to hit the higher ball.

“Notice how your swing changed?”

“Yeah.”

It had changed from a flat swing to more of an uppercut. I could see how the trajectory of the ball would change or I would undercut the ball and pop it up.

“What would happen if you originally had your knees bent? Could you stand a little straighter and still have your natural swing?”

“Yes, but I’ll have to make adjustments on almost every ball thrown. Not all of them will be perfect.”

“You’re right,” Moose said, and then smiled. “What I’m trying to show you is a way to expand the zone where you can swing naturally. You’re a coordinated kid. I wouldn’t try this with all my players, because I first want them to find their swing. This adds some complexity to your hitting approach in that your body isn’t just striding and hitting. There may be some movement up or down to get the bat head where you need it.

“Look, I have no worries that you can hit almost any pitch. Your eye-hand coordination is exceptional. You know as well as I do that if you can get a pitch in your sweet spot, you can hit it harder without any extra effort. If you could expand that zone by just a couple of inches, it would make a difference in your long-term power numbers.”

“I’ll try it,” I said.

“Good. Now I want you to learn to bunt.”

I blinked a couple of times. I fancied myself a power hitter. Why would Moose ever want to take the bat out of my hand?

“Why?”

I would never have asked that if there were other players around, because it would look like I was challenging Moose. I think he knew what I was thinking.

“At some point you’ll play on teams where you’re not the only quality player. I say that meaning no disrespect to your teammates. But bunting is a powerful weapon, and guys like you don’t tend to learn how to do it correctly. If you watch major league baseball, there are only a few hitters on any team that can reliably lay down a bunt when needed. The ones who can’t were always the top guy before they got to the majors, and their previous coaches would rather have them swing away than make the sacrifice to move the runner over.

“If you learn this skill, it’ll make you even more valuable. Just like Coach Haskins is going to teach you how to steal bases. I want you to think about the big picture for a minute. What does the infield do when someone like you comes up to bat?”

“Take a couple of steps back,” I said.

“Correct. They want to give themselves more time to react to a screaming shot. Now, what will happen if that same batter lays down a bunt? You’ll have a couple of extra steps to beat it out. A hit is a hit. You know what happens if you get burned in football: you adjust. I’ve watched you sucker a defensive back into playing tighter and then hit him with the big one.

“It’s the same thing here. If we can get them to play tighter, they have less time to react. It opens up holes where a hard hit can get through, because they weren’t back and couldn’t react to it.” I nodded my understanding.

“Let’s talk about stealing bases. A good base stealer puts a tremendous amount of pressure on the infield and especially the pitcher. Now, to this point, I’ve never been a big proponent of base stealing, because each runner is so valuable. Combine that with the fact that not a lot of high school players are very good at it, and you can see why I’m that way.

“Coach Haskins has opened my eyes about a few things, though,” he said, and I smirked. “Yes, this old dog can be taught new tricks. Coach Haskins pointed out that the pitcher, catcher, and second baseman all have to do their job correctly to throw out a runner. Last year proved his assertion that at this level, an active base runner can cause havoc.

“It also forces the pitcher to throw out of the stretch. They have to hold the runner, and if they throw to first there’s always a chance for an error. This gives our batter an advantage. My plan is to get you on first and make the defense worry about what you’re going to do. Coach Haskins is one of these metrics guys, and he assures me that a good base runner will help us win more games.”

“I can get behind that. If it’ll make me a more well-rounded player and help the team, I’ll put in the work,” I said.

He had me go into the batting cage and adjust my stance slightly. Bending my knees more felt funny, but I could still hit without a problem. It would just take time for me to get used to it.

While I finished up, others began to arrive. Moose patted me on the back and actually cracked a smile.

“Go tend to your political stuff. Just remember, baseball season is here now, and I’d kind of like it if you’d start really focusing on it.”

Paul was waiting for me out front. He took me home so I could change. I asked him to go pick up everyone, and I’d be ready by the time he got back. I put on a Dakora outfit and went to the house to check on Bandit. I didn’t need Halle’s cat traumatized when I returned him. He met me at the back door and meowed. He wasn’t happy about something.

“He’s a bigger tattletale than Duke,” Mom said.

“Have you been abusing him?” I asked.

“No, I think he’s just used to being an only child. Why don’t you take him out back for a little bit?” Mom suggested.

Halle had bought him a kitty leash. While he usually came to me, I didn’t want him taking off. I would never hear the end of it. He seemed to understand that Duke didn’t get to go with us, because he almost pranced out the back door, to the whines of my trusty hound. Duke certainly didn’t understand why his master would take a cat for a walk when he didn’t get to go. If I had more time, I would’ve taken both of them.

I saw a blur jump out from the side of the house.

“Oh, no, no, no, no!”

Precious had Bandit by the back of the neck, and he looked dead. I felt my stomach tighten. If Brit’s cat had just killed Bandit, I might have to end Precious. I got on my knees.

“Bring it here,” I commanded.

Precious cocked her head and then brought me the kitten. She dropped him and Bandit jumped up into my arms. I’d forgotten that if you picked up a cat by the scruff of the neck, it would go limp. My heart was beating like crazy, and I could feel Bandit trembling in my arms. I checked him all over, and Precious hadn’t left a mark on him.

I went inside, handed Bandit to Mom, and told her what had happened. Bandit seemed happy with all the attention she gave him. She told him stories of the evil cat from next door. I, of course, had to let Duke out. I chuckled when Precious tried the same thing on Duke. He just shook her off and then chased her.

When the SUV pulled into the gate, I sent Duke inside and called to my mom to let her know I was leaving. I saw Grandma Dawson had claimed shotgun. Brook’s parents claimed the middle row, so I got in the back with Brook. Today’s Town Hall wasn’t going to be like the ‘get out the vote’ campus events I went to last weekend, even though it would be held at UIC’s Pavilion.

That was the reason my grandma was going. People across the state knew who she was, and it would be an older crowd.

“What are we supposed to do?” I asked.

“You’ll sit behind the panel in case a question gets directed to you,” Grandma Dawson said.

“So this is going to be boring,” I said.

Brook hit me in the back of the head. I was sure Paul was with me on the sentiment, though. Everyone else seemed to be excited about going to a Town Hall meeting.

Once we settled into our drive, Brook jabbed my side to get my attention. She had her tablet out and showed me a sailboat. They offered a one-week cruise that would start in Puerto Rico and end in Aruba. They had the equipment to fill dive tanks.

The more I read about the yacht, the more excited I got. A luxury catamaran that would comfortably accommodate up to eight guests while covering up to 300 nautical miles per day under sail. It was sixty-nine feet long, but it said the yacht was still compact enough to fit into most harbors, and its shallow draft allowed it to slip into quiet coves and anchorages that would be off-limits for keelboats of her size.

It had four cabins that had queen-size beds and private bathrooms. That would be perfect for our parents, Brook and I. It came with two crew members that sailed the yacht and cooked gourmet meals. I flipped through the photos and it was like a floating five-star hotel. It even had air conditioning so you could get a good night’s sleep.

It said they would customize your cruise to your specific needs. If you wanted to act like a tourist and enjoy what the different islands had to offer, they could do that. For the group who wanted to just relax, they could find beautiful secluded coves. They also had options for the more adventurous.

“What does this cost?” I asked Brook.

She told me and I calculated it per each person. For that price, I could buy a yacht.

“Seriously, eighty-eight thousand, total?” I asked.

“No, it’s eleven thousand total for the week. That includes everything. Of course, it can be more if you do some add-ons.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“If you’re a foodie and want high-end wine, for example.”

“Don’t tell my dad, he’d want some expensive scotch.”

“I think our dads will get along,” Brook said.

“What do we have to do to book it?” I asked.

She blushed.

“I already did,” she said, and then asked a question before I could object. “Who are you bringing with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your room is big enough to have someone sleep with you.”

“I thought...” I said, and then realized the parental units would be with us.

“I was thinking about inviting Cassidy.”

I ran through the list of guys I knew, but I didn’t want to sleep in the same bed with them for a week. Maybe I could convince my parents to allow me to ask Beth. The only problem with that was I wanted to spend time with Brook. It would be a little awkward if Beth was there. This was one of those times where Tami said my first instinct was always wrong. I would be better off going alone.

“Let me think about it.”

“I need to know by Monday. I want to order the plane tickets.”

“For now, just figure I’ll go solo. If I change my mind, I’ll take care of the tickets later.”

“Call your mom,” Brook ordered.

I knew Ava, Brook’s mom, had been listening to us.

“Ava, you want to call her?” I asked, and she had the grace to act confused as to what I was asking.

“Mom will call her,” Brook said.

Ava got her phone out and dialed. I smiled to myself when she didn’t ask who she was supposed to call. She definitely needed to work on her acting skills.

When we arrived at the University of Illinois at Chicago’s campus, we went to their basketball arena, the UIC Pavilion. They had a stage set up with panel-type seating. They had VIP guest seating on a riser behind the panel. My grandma and I were assigned seats in that area. They set it up so the TV cameras could see supporters.

Brook and her family were assigned seats on the floor close to the front. I felt a little bad they didn’t rate VIP seats. Bill Carl, the banker and minority owner of the Cubs, brought his wife Elinor over to say hi. It turned out my grandma was good friends with them. They chatted with my grandma while I spaced out.

It was finally time for the event to begin. Joining the governor on stage were representatives from the FBI, DHS, and State Police, as well as Bev Mass, the DA for Cook County. The topic was how the state would deal with terrorists. I rolled my eyes when a university professor got up and talked at length about how we should just all love one another and the terrorists would leave us alone. While I wasn’t for drone strikes in the suburbs, even I knew that a group hug wasn’t going to stop the violence.

The FBI and DHS representatives talked at length about how they were working to keep us safe. Then it was the State Police’s turn. Bev Mass spoke for both the Chicago Police and her office. I hadn’t realized the resources they’d committed to this type of problem.

Then they opened it up to questions. A woman in a hijab came to one of the microphones. They had four set up around the arena, and there was a line at each.

“Peace to you all. I’m a law student at Northwestern University. I’m here to ask you a simple question. I know that we portray Islam and all Muslims as bad, but there are 1.5 billion Muslim followers of Islam, most of whom are not radical. We have over eight million Muslim-Americans, and I don’t see them represented here on this panel. But my question is, how can we fight an ideological war with the weapons and methods outlined here today? How can we end this war? The Jihadist ideology that you talk about, it’s an ideology. How can you ever win this thing if you don’t address it ideologically?” she asked.

I watched as Brook got up and waved for attention. She went to one of the mics. I could see the people on the panel weren’t comfortable. I was sure they were afraid of looking insensitive and possibly saying something politically incorrect. They happily deferred to Brook.

“Excuse me, let me take this. Great question. I’m so glad you’re here, and I’m so glad you brought that up, because it gives us an opportunity to answer. What I find so amazing is that since the beginning of this discussion, not one person has even mentioned Muslims, let alone suggest that we are for or against Islam. We’re here talking about how a young woman died here in Chicago. We’re here to discuss the shootings in California and how to make our people safe.

“We’re not here to bash Muslims. You were the only one who brought up the issue about most Muslims, not us. And since you brought it up, allow me to elaborate on the answer. There are 1.5 billion Muslims in the world today. Of course not all of them are radicals; the majority of them are peaceful people. The radical Muslims are estimated to be between fifteen and twenty-five percent of the total world Muslim population, according to all the intelligence services around the world. That leaves seventy-five percent that are peaceful people.

“But when you look at fifteen to twenty-five percent of the worldwide Muslim population, you are looking at between 225 to 375 million people dedicated to the destruction of Western civilization. That’s as big as the population of the United States.

“So why should we worry about the radicals? Because it’s the radicals who kill. Because it’s radicals who strangle a young woman who just wanted to meet and have her picture taken with my friend David. It’s the radicals who kill innocents.

“When you look throughout history and the lessons we should learn, you find most Germans were peaceful. Yet the Nazis drove the agenda, and as a result 60 million people died during World War II. Almost 14 million died in concentration camps, and six million of them were Jews. The peaceful majority of Germans were irrelevant. They did nothing to stop it.

“When you look at Russia, most Russians were peaceful people. Yet the Russians were able to kill 20 million of their own people in that same war and during the purges that preceded it. The peaceful majority were irrelevant again. When you look at China, for example, most Chinese were peaceful as well. Yet the Chinese government was able to kill 70 million people during their Cultural Revolution. The peaceful majority were irrelevant.

“When you look at Japan prior to World War II, most Japanese were peaceful. Yet Japan was able to butcher its way across Southeast Asia, killing 12 million people, mostly with bayonets and shovels. The peaceful majority were irrelevant.

“On September 11 in the United States, we had 2.3 million Arab Muslims living here. That doesn’t include non-Arab Muslims from different regions of the world like Indonesia, Turkish, Indian, Pakistani, Afghani, Chechen, Uzbeki, Uighur, Rohingya, Bangladeshi or even the United States. It took 19 hijackers, 19 radicals, to bring America to its knees as they destroyed the World Trade Center and attacked the Pentagon. They killed nearly three thousand people that day. The peaceful majority were irrelevant that day.

“So for all your reasoning, and us talking about moderate and peaceful Muslims, I’m glad you’re here. But where are the others speaking out? You seem to be the only Muslim representative.

“Since you’re the only Muslim representative here, you took the limelight. Yet instead of speaking about why the young girl died, or about the tragedy in California and what our government is doing to correct the problem, you stood there to make a point about peaceful, moderate Muslims. You make a good point about ideology; I wish you’d brought ten others with you so they could help us figure this out.

“It’s time we take political correctness and throw it in the garbage where it belongs. As far as I’m concerned, the peaceful Muslims are irrelevant to this discussion,” Brook concluded.

My first thought was, ‘Oh, shit.’ It took a moment for what she said to sink in, and then a smattering of applause started. Then it grew. I was sure I would look back at this moment and be able to point to the time Brook Davis entered politics. What she said wasn’t intended to be politically correct. Rather, she intended to tell some truths. What’s the old saying, ‘out of the mouths of babes’?

The majority of Muslims weren’t radical. We needed to focus on the ones that were, the ones that wanted to destroy our way of life. While I could see her point, I might not have said peaceful Muslims were irrelevant. I would bet that if we ever wanted to solve this problem, we would need their help. I felt we needed to be more inclusive instead of an ‘us against them’ type of mentality. But that wasn’t her point. Her point was we spent too much time focused on not hurting anyone’s feelings. How many more had to die before we woke up?

After the Town Hall meeting, I noticed that Governor Higgins avoided Brook and her family. I pointed it out to my grandmother.

“It’s politics, my boy. He doesn’t know how her comments will be received. You know that it doesn’t matter if she’s right or not. Our political climate is such that people just take sides and they’re ready to fight to the death over it. It saddens me to see that a well-reasoned comment is ignored. No, I take that back. It’s sad to see a well-reasoned comment vilified just because of who said it.

“Your grandfather predicted that partisanship would be our downfall, that people would eventually be so disgusted with all the infighting and political gridlock resulting in nothing getting done. He said that if it continued, people would leave the parties and look for alternatives. Davey said that you’d see it first in smaller elections where independent candidates would begin to win. It would be years before an independent could win a national election. The two-party system just had too much money and had stacked the deck in their favor, even though a third of the electorate identifies themselves as independent.

“He did say that if the level of hostility continued to escalate, that people would clamor for an alternative. They would be so disgusted with the choices offered that they would revolt,” Grandma Dawson said.

I could just see my grandpa ranting about the need for everyone to work together instead of bickering with each other. The one thing I will say was he was known to be a man of the people. He’d built himself into the power broker he was by knowing how to broker fair deals. If I ever went into politics, I wanted to be like him. My fear was I didn’t have the temperament for it. If they started to tell lies about me, I’d just track them down and kick their asses. I had a feeling that would be a bad idea.

When we got in the car to go home, it was awful quiet. I finally had had enough. It was unnatural for Brook not to be her normal bubbly self.

“Those were some impressive stats,” I ventured.

“Dad’s a history buff and got me interested when I was young,” she admitted.

“You did a good thing,” I said, and reached over and squeezed her hand.

“I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I smiled.

“You wouldn’t be Brook Davis if you didn’t say what you felt.”

She gave me half a smile.

“Max didn’t seem happy with me,” she said as her smile left her face.

“Max didn’t know what to think,” I said, and then pulled her chin up so she looked me in the eyes. “What you said, what you believed, people heard that. As long as you’re true to yourself, you can wake up in the morning and look at yourself in the mirror and have a clear conscience.”

“David’s right. I was really proud of you,” Ian said.

She leaned close to me so only I could hear.

“I didn’t think guys like you actually existed. Sweet, sincere and HOT ... you’re like a unicorn.”

I checked and my wallet was still there. She gave me a smirk, and then the smile fell from her face. I left her alone with her own thoughts. I knew I would have needed some alone-time to sort out what had happened. I was proud of her, and saw her in a completely different light.

After we got back to town and dropped off Brook and her parents, Grandma asked me to visit the farmhouse with her.

“I want to show you what we’ve been up to.”

She showed me that they’d taken out several walls to open up the floor plan. My grandmother told me that back in the day, homes had many little rooms. The good news was that they were able to save most of the wood floors. They were black walnut, and my grandma speculated that they came from trees on the farm. They’d sanded and put polyurethane on the floors. It would have been criminal to stain these floors. Black walnut had a natural deep, rich look, darker than pine or oak, but not so dark as to make the space feel smaller. The refinished floors made a huge difference.

The interior had all new paint and the kitchen had been updated. They planned to tackle the bathrooms next. Once the interior was done, she would have them work on the exterior. The front porch had some wood rot, and she pointed out that the house needed a new roof and paint.

“I want to show you something special,” she said, with a little mischief in her eyes.

She took me to a back room where there were tall and long dressers and an armoire. They were in a shaker style, but whoever made them was a real artisan. The drawer fronts on the dressers all had been made from a single piece of wood. The grain matched from drawer to drawer. The long dresser had two columns of three drawers, the tall dresser had a single column of five.

The armoire was big. She opened it and showed me it was designed to be an entertainment center. The doors had pockets they could slide into so they disappeared.

“You can get a fifty-inch TV in there,” she said. “We had a couple of old trees that needed to come down. I made a deal with a local man to make these in exchange for the trees.”

“Who did you trade with?” I asked.

“The Mennonites have a sawmill, and they make furniture.”

“So this is all black walnut?” I asked.

“Yes, the old trees were big enough they were able to get wood wide enough to make these. He told me that it was rare to be able to do it this way anymore.”

“You got yourself some incredible furniture,” I said.

“No, these are yours. They’re making me some other things. I’ve asked them to also make a headboard to match.”

“I don’t have room,” I said, feeling bad they wouldn’t fit into my apartment.

“Your mom and I talked about it. I’ll store this here until you get a place of your own.”

“I really appreciate it,” I said.

I pulled her into my arms to hug her, and looked down at the gray hair on her head. Two things stood out for me like never before. The first was how much she loved her family, and me. The second was how incredibly smart and forward-looking she was. I know that when my mom and I clashed and Grandma stepped in to help us resolve our differences I’d found that she was someone I could go to for advice and love. This just reconfirmed that belief.

We then walked the farm and she revealed to me what all the plans were. She already had some goats. The orchards were being cleaned up. She showed me where the fields for produce would go in. They’d used walnut husks to cover the road back to the river. I’d no idea they could be used for that.

The county had approved a farm bridge so we could get to the fields on the other side. This summer they would put one in. Things were shaping up.

Sunday February 28

I ran and then went to church with my mom. Some dimwit college kid got up and said he wanted to go to Cancún over spring break to do missionary work. I blurted out “bullshit” without thinking. The congregation had a laugh when my mom grabbed my ear and marched me out like I was ten years old. When we got outside, she let go and started to laugh.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” she said through the laughter bubbling up from inside her. “It was all I could do to keep from laughing at that idiot and then at you calling him on it.”

“So why did you make me leave? I had questions to ask about which resort he planned to hold his prayer meeting in,” I said.

“You just answered your own question. Come on, let’s get home. Your uncle has that smoker and he’s bringing over ribs for lunch.”

That did sound like a plan.

When got home, we had to park on the street. I saw Wolf had Roc hard at work preparing the garden. I think Wolf just had a sixth sense about when we’d be serving good food. I came into the house and found the rest of the Pearson family had joined us. Greg and his family were in the living room with Peggy and Little David. Bandit had a new fan in Kyle. That boy loved kittens. Mac saw me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me to Zoe.

“Horsey?” she asked, looking up at me with wide, pleading eyes.

“Did you make someone a promise?” I asked Zoe.

“Yeah, I think your niece needs a horseback ride this afternoon. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I think Zoe just wants you to help her with her chores,” Mr. Pearson said.

“I don’t mind,” I admitted. I really had absolutely no defense against two sets of innocent-seeming female eyes.

I introduced everyone to Paul, my driver and security for the day. Mom invited him to stay for lunch. He was happy he did. Uncle John had done beef ribs and a huge brisket. Everyone else had brought something. Grandma Dawson was the star. She made homemade ice cream. I hadn’t had that in forever, and had almost forgotten how good it was.

After lunch, I hooked Zoe up with my grandma. They talked about Zoe working on our farm. I found out later that her dad had told her he’d pay for college, but she had to earn her own spending money. She had some money saved, but wanted to earn more. I liked that she knew the value of a dollar and was willing to work to get it.

Kyle wanted to stay home and play with Bandit, so I took Mac with me to Zoe’s house. I don’t know how it happened, but I mucked stalls while she and Mac went for a horseback ride.