Chapter 18

Monday morning's game was a distinct improvement over Sunday's afternoon fiasco. The minor league stadium was reserved for the championship game, so our third-place game was played at the college field where we'd been yesterday. Cary started off well, but got shelled for four runs in the top of the fourth inning. Mo and I had already driven in three runs, and Jesse added a two-run shot in the bottom of the fourth to put us back into the lead. In the top of the fifth, their best hitter sent a tough bouncer toward Matt, and we all held our breaths. But he scooped it out of the dirt and threw it over to first to beat the guy by two steps. The guys in the dugout leaped off the bench to cheer him. Mattie turned and gave me a thumbs up. Cary settled down again, and we went on to an 8-5 win and a third-place trophy. We left after another great lunch, and got home around six.

I raced home, showered, and arrived at Tanya's around seven, well before sunset. That gave us all a while to chat before the Seder began. It was a fairly formal gathering, and I was a little nervous. We were all a little nervous, actually. Unlike Purim, we hadn't had anything to drink.

"So, have you been done anything exciting for your spring break so far?" Mrs. Szerchenko asked as we sat uncomfortably in the living room.

I gave Tanya a malicious grin and leaned forward.

"I did break a television yesterday," I told her parents.

"You broke a television?" Tanya asked with alarm. "In the motel?"

"You were in a motel?" Mrs. Szerchenko's radar had gone on full alert. "What were you doing in a motel?"

"I was out of town, ma'am. We had a tournament."

"How did you break a television?" Tanya asked.

"What kind of tournament?" her mother inquired.

"Ladies, ladies," Mr. Szerchenko came to my aid. "First off, tell Tanya how you broke a television."

"I yanked the cord out of the wall," I smiled.

"Why?" Tanya insisted.

"Does she get another question?" I asked her father.

"No. Now tell Anna what kind of tournament you were at."

"A baseball tournament."

"You play baseball?" Mr. Szerchenko's face lit up.

"Yes, sir." I turned to Tanya. "You never told them I play baseball?"

"It never came up," she said weakly.

"Pffft," her father exhaled noisily through pursed lips. "She thinks we're intellectuals who hate sports."

"You do hate sports, daddy," Tanya protested.

"I hate overpaid professional athletes," he corrected her. "But amateur sports, that's a different question. Did you know the Final Four is on tonight, Patrick?"

"I did know that, sir," I grinned.

"I have a television in the study," he winked. "In case we get tired of celebrating the deliverance of Israel from the bondage of Egypt. Now, as for baseball, my favorite sport —"

"You've never watched a baseball game in your life, daddy," Tanya sputtered.

"And how much of my life have you been around for young lady? Seventeen, almost eighteen years?"

"When is her birthday?" I interjected.

"April 28th," Mr. Szerchenko said quickly to avoid interrupting his argument. "And I am how old, sixty-one? So how much of my life is that you've been here for? A third?"

"Less than a third, I think," I put in, getting a dirty look from Tanya and a grin from her father.

"I'll admit I haven't watched it recently," he continued. "They're all overpaid now. Isn't that right, Patrick?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," I scratched my head. "I'm sure they're worth every penny they get."

"You just say that because you're going to get drafted," Tanya said.

"You're good enough to be drafted?" her father seemed to swell with pride.

"Well, we'll see," I said with a smile.

"So you're not going to college?" Mrs. Szerchenko was prepared to act horrified.

"Oh yes, ma'am," I said. "If I can get a scholarship to the University of Virginia, I'll go there. And if not, there's always the draft."

Mr. Szerchenko leaned forward.

"Do you know who Sandy Koufax was?" he asked, nearly vibrating with excitement.

"Yes, sir," I said. "Left-handed pitcher for the Dodgers. Back in the sixties. I'm a left-handed pitcher, too, so I Googled the best ones to see if I could learn anything."

"I saw him at Shea Stadium when I was fourteen, and again the next year. He was Jewish, you know?"

"I did not know that, sir."

"He refused to play on Yom Kippur once in the World Series. Not that they needed him with that damn Drysdale."

"I do know he had a great curveball," I smiled and leaned back.

"And you?" he asked. "How's your curveball?"

"I have a good fastball. My curve only goes about fifty-eight feet, six inches so far."

Mr. Szerchenko burst into laughter to the bewilderment of his wife and daughter.

"Home plate is sixty feet, six inches from the pitcher's mound," he explained. "Your friend's curve breaks a little too early."

"I still can't believe you watched baseball," Tanya shook her head.

"And I can't believe that you didn't want to tell us that your friend was an athlete," her mother shot back.

It looked like the beginning of a good family argument. I had no idea why Tanya had tried to keep it a secret, but it was time for me to play the white knight.

"I think she was afraid I'd get a swelled head," I said to her parents.

"I'm sorry?" her father turned to look at me.

"She liked me before she knew I was a jock," I smiled at Tanya. "And I think she wants to make sure that I always know that. I do tend to kind of get a little full of myself in the spring. My sister calls this the golden arm."

I held the arm out as if it was an object worthy of everyone's reverence, and Tanya whacked the other one. The tension was broken. Tanya's mother got up to finish getting the dinner ready and her father excused himself, too. My best girl and I were left sitting alone on the couch.

"So this is the Seder?" I asked after a pause. "The meal that follows a Jewish family counseling session?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just didn't think they'd understand."

"Why you like somebody who likes sports?" I asked softly.

She nodded.

"Cause all of your earlier boyfriends have been, like, chess guys?"

She nodded again.

"Maybe they don't care, you know. Maybe they just like the people you like. Maybe they trust you."

"And you're saying that I should trust them?"

"Hashem forbid I should get into the middle of this," I said. Tanya whacked me again and I raised my voice toward the kitchen. "Is there anything I can help you with, Mrs. Szerchenko? Please?"

She came out with a bottle of wine for me to open, and the Seder was underway. It was amazing. I hate to call it a meal, because it was a meal and a celebration and a solemn religious observance and a discussion group and an occasion for love. And for me, of course, it was an education, although it reminded me a lot of Christmas at my Aunt Ruth's. I found myself wondering what Aunt Ruth and Uncle Bill were doing for Easter this coming Sunday. It wasn't until I left, in fact, that I realized that I had no idea who had won the NCAA Final Four.

Early the next morning I got a phone call from Bob Hastings.

"Trick, I just want to let you know that Andy Lebo was released from the hospital yesterday."

"Jeez," I said, "I kinda thought he would have been out before now."

"Evidently he needed a second operation," Mr. Hastings explained.

"So he's not being charged either?" I asked, a little shocked.

"Hell, yes, he's being charged. Breaking and entering, assault, assault with intent to maim, destruction of property — it's a nice, long list."

"So he's in jail?" I asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not, pal. But it cost his parents a $500,000 bond, and they forfeit it if he gets within one hundred feet of the school or any member of your family. So I wouldn't be surprised if his folks are finding a nice military school for him to finish his education."

"I guess he couldn't get into to Richmond Arms, huh?" I asked, naming the girls' school where my former girlfriend Stephie van Carlen was finishing her education in lieu of going to the same school as I did.

Mr. Hastings started to chuckle.

"I wonder how far down I am from valedictorian?" I mused aloud, getting an even bigger laugh. We finished the call, and I went out to celebrate. Actually, I went shopping.

Practice wasn't until 3:00, so as soon as I hung up with Mr. Hastings, I called Tanya see if she was free. She was and — oh lucky day! — so was her mother. I don't know why, but I thought that all mothers worked. Mine had. Everybody else's did. Mrs. Szerchenko did not. So my plan to spend the day with Tanya, at her house, just the two of us, never got off the ground. Instead, it was going to be a shopping trip for three. What fun we were going to have.

It was the first time I'd gone back to the mall where I'd had my really freaky meeting with Santa Claus in 2003, just over three months on the Patrick Sterling timeline. I was afraid that would weird me out a little bit, but the mall is a much different, much colder place in the non-Christmas season. So I very amiably spent most of the morning and early afternoon listening to the two women argue about shoes. Mrs. Szerchenko also insisted on buying me a hideous baseball tie. All in all, the first part of the day went just about as well as I would have predicted if you had told me I was going to spend it at women's shoe stores in the mall.

Practice that afternoon came as a welcome relief. So, for that matter, did my assignment the next morning to stay home for Dave duty. Dad grudgingly took the day off from work to take Tiffany to the doctor's office for another checkup. At that point, it was starting to look to me like the poor women didn't need a checkup so much as she needed somebody to come and remove the damn thing. Her due date wasn't for another five weeks, on May 11, but I didn't think she could possibly get any larger. That evening, when we all had dinner together down in Dave's room, Tiffany told us that she had finally broken down and asked the doctor about the baby's sex. It was a girl, it turned out, and she and Dad had planned on naming it Brittany. What did we think of that?

We tried to be thrilled. Until Dave pointed out that if their next one was a boy they could name it Normandy. Then we were just laughing too hard.

"You guys are very funny," Tiffany said. "Ha-ha-ha. I wonder whose room we'll start making over for the nursery."

"His," Dave stopped laughing pointed at me. "He'll be gone right after the draft."

"His," I pointed at Dave. "Tanya's gonna make him go to college."

We both looked at each other and turned to Tiffany.

"Jeanne's," we said in unison.

"But she'll be here for another year," Tiffany protested.

"She can double up with Jill," I explained.

"Girls love that," Dave agreed.

"Men," Tiffany huffed. "You're all just useless."

All three of us were looking at her pear-shaped body.

"I didn't say you weren't necessary, just useless," she snapped back.

I tried calling Tanya that evening, but remembered, when I got her voicemail, that her parents had taken her into the city for an opera. They'd invited me along for that one, too — her father had been particularly eager to offer me his ticket — but I pleaded my "Obsession" paper. In truth, I hadn't even really started it yet. I had wasted the first week milking my fight injuries and finishing my History paper, and the second week concentrating on baseball. I only had four days left, which included another game and Easter. So I really did have to work on it that night. Besides, opera? Were they serious?

On Thursday morning I got a call from Rachel Carter, asking me to come into school. I pointed out to her that I was on spring break, and she pointed out to me that I was still a senior at Marshall and if I wanted to graduate with my class, I'd better get my damn butt into school. I was more than a little reluctant, right up until I actually walked into the office.

"Trick!" Rachel yelped as I walked up to the counter. She jumped out of her seat, rushed around the counter, and leaped on me, throwing her arms around my neck. She was wearing a particularly attractive soft, knitted turtleneck, and I found myself wishing that I hadn't worn a windbreaker. I mean, it wasn't every day a guy got a hug from Rachel Carter.

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A Stitch in Time

Marsh Alien

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