The Closer Page 12

  She attempted to ease his discomfort, or possibly change the subject, by handing him a cotton handkerchief for the windblown particle still in his eye, which he'd been rubbing intermittently with his fingers for the last minute or two.

  "Their uncle..." he said slowly, careful not to utter anything else foolish. "He close to the kids?"

  "Not as close as I'd like. He's a doctor and doesn't have much time."

  "Married?"

  "Divorced...five or six years."

  "Any other relatives living here?" he asked, dabbing his eye with the handkerchief.

  "No, I've kind of gotten away from family," she said. "The few still alive."

  She pointed to her car up ahead, a yellow compact. They had to stop as another car, going too fast for a parking lot, whizzed by. The car belched black smoke, and they waited for the air to clear before resuming.

  "Quite a coincidence that you should know Carly," he commented.

  "Not so much as you'd think. In my prime I worked with hundreds of kids at a time."

  "In your prime...?" he interjected a bit flirtatiously. "You don't look like you're past your prime to me."

  She shrugged and appeared a little uncomfortable.

  "Not like some broken down relief pitcher," he continued, flexing his right arm and presenting a pained expression, as though the arm hurt.

  "Wish we could talk right now," she said, looking no less uncomfortable and glancing at her watch. "But I don't have time."

  They reached her car. After unlocking the door, she looked up at him briefly. He felt a sudden impulse to kiss her. Right there in the parking lot, in broad daylight. Of course, he knew she would refuse. But he tried anyway. Surprisingly, she let him. And even kissed him back. In fact, he sensed she didn't want to stop.

  "Stay a while," he coaxed, once they finally drew apart.

  "No," she sighed. "I can't."

  "Gotta go get the kids?"

  "Sound instincts," she smiled. "Besides an uncle, you might make a good mother."

  They both laughed. As she drove off, he rubbed his left eye once more with her handkerchief.

  Late that night in his bungalow, Terry had trouble sleeping. Like that night nearly three months ago just prior to discovering Murdoch in trouble. Again, like then, he had the feeling too much was happening in his life, that things were a little out of control.

  There were the relationships with all four Rileys and with Murdoch and Carly. With Rick. There was the pennant race. Plus the fact that earlier in the evening he'd recorded his twenty-second straight save, and been invited to appear afterward on postgame television.

  "You're being mentioned," announcer Paul Furay had informed him, "as a leading candidate for rookie of the year."

  Terry hadn't answered. Fortunately. Probably what he would have said was, if he won the award, he'd no doubt be the oldest recipient in history.

  But now, as he tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep, his thoughts centered on one thing. The kiss. What did it mean? Had he and Lauren reached a new plateau? Had she finally revealed her true feelings? Would he be seeing more of her? With and without the children.

  Until then, all he'd really had the opportunity to do was admire her. The way she conducted herself. The knowledge and understanding she displayed with kids, especially problem children. The way she'd raised her own children, essentially alone and in the face of catastrophe with the sudden death of her husband.

  Lying there in his bungalow, he knew he could no longer be satisfied just admiring her. Plain and simple, he wanted her. All of her.

  The kiss had made that unmistakably clear.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  "Dad, when can I get out of here?" Carly asked the next morning.

  "The doctor doesn't want you going yet, honey."

  "Why not...? I'm feeling much better."

  "There's no hurry."

  "But I've been here more than a week," she debated, sitting up in bed.

  "He's giving you medication," he said carefully. "To help withdrawal."

  "Withdrawal...? Sounds like detox."

  "I think that's what he has in mind. He says there's a good program right here at the hospital."

  "But that's not what I have in mind," she answered sharply.

  "I think you should listen to him."

  "I listened to you back when we made our deal."

  "I know honey. I'm just telling you what he said."

  "I'm more interested in what you said and us keeping our deal."

  "Our deal almost killed you," he replied softly.

  His comment apparently registered, or maybe she paused because she wasn't feeling quite as strong as she thought. In either case, she lay back and closed her eyes, as if trying to sleep. Then she reopened them and looked up at Murdoch, standing beside the bed.

  "Dad, I have something to tell you."

  "What, honey?"

  "It's about Texas."

  "Texas?"

  But she paused again, once more closing her eyes. This time Murdoch was nearly certain she'd fallen asleep, since her breathing grew heavy. Her eyes opened though, and he noticed tears in them. Also, that her expression had become very serious, reflective.

  "I had a baby in Texas," she said.

  He didn't reply.

  "I had to give him up," she continued. "No money. No place for us to live."

  "What about drugs?"

  "That was a problem too."

  Murdoch suddenly realized the extent of what his daughter had endured during the three years since he left her and her mother. He reached down and put his arms around her. He held her for several minutes, her initial tears turning into very audible sobs.

  "Could you meet me at the hospital tomorrow?" Lauren asked Terry over the phone late that night.

  "Sure."

  "And maybe have lunch afterward..."

  "Sure," he said, becoming curious.

  "Around eleven?"

  "Fine. Bringing the kids?"

  "No. I'll get a sitter."

  After hanging up, Terry had trouble getting back into the book he'd been reading. This was all new—her phoning, suggesting they meet, making a date for lunch, arranging a sitter for the kids. What did she have in mind?

  Was this indication things were heading in the direction he hoped?

  There were two outs and two on in the bottom of the ninth. Oakland trailed Baltimore 4-3 in what had been a very intense night game. Catcher Chris Bailey, a righty and number nine man in the batting order, was the scheduled hitter. He'd been in a slump and was 0 for 3 tonight. Rick decided to use a pinch hitter.

  Clancy Adams was his choice. He strode determinedly to the plate. Unfortunately, he was also right handed, and had to face Jose Tartabull, Baltimore’s talented closer, a right hander himself.

  Rick had meant what he'd told his players about being happy with the guys they had. About not changing horses in midstream. About team chemistry. And yet, unless he held back one of his starters, he didn't have a single left handed pinch hitter. In this spot, against Tartabull, with the game on the line, he would've loved to have had a lefty.

  Adams dug into the box. The Oakland runners led off first and second. Tartabull fired his first pitch, a tough slider over the outside corner at the knees. Adams took it for strike one.

  Rick could bemoan Texas and New York picking up new players to strengthen weaknesses. But, he had to laugh. Each team had lost their last four games. Oakland now trailed them both by a mere game and a half.

  Tartabull's next pitch was a curve that hung a little as it caught the outside corner. Rick couldn't avoid envisioning a left hander connecting and driving the pitch into right center for a game-ending two run double. The best Adams could do was foul the ball lazily over the Baltimore first base dugout, into the stands. Strike two.

  Despite his desiring a lefty, there was no way Rick would want the front office to try and buy a championship. In recent years, while coaching in the minors, he'd seen many major league t
eams make the attempt and fail miserably, mortgaging their futures in the process. He resented the corporate mentality now seemingly dominating the sport. The concept that possessing resources to acquire the best players was far more important than some basic components of the historical American dream—working hard, developing talent, building from within. Baseball, once so intertwined with that dream, now appeared to be more its antithesis. In the process—as the elderly man Rick met on his San Diego flight had asserted—losing its purity and magic, the aspects Rick so admired. And with them, its very heart and soul.

  Tartabull fired his next pitch. It was another curve, outside and in the dirt. Adams took a feeble half swing, and missed. Strike three, three outs, game over.

  Rick headed sadly for the locker room. They'd have another game tomorrow night.

  "Any news about the baby?" Carly asked, sitting up in bed.

  "He's doing fine," Lauren reported.

  "Good home?"

  "Very..."

  "In Texas?"

  Lauren nodded. So did Carly, but rather glumly. In fact, Terry, standing in the background like during the previous occasion here at the hospital, could see she wasn't very happy. Not that it affected her appearance. Dressed in a new pink bathrobe Murdoch had evidently bought her, she looked even more alert than last time. When he and Lauren had entered the room, she'd even gotten out of bed and hugged them both.

  "Any chance I could go see him?" she asked Lauren. "Once I get out of here."

  "Not a good idea..."

  "But I'm his mother."

  "You gave up all rights."

  "What would I have to do to get them back?"

  "Are you asking for my help?" Lauren answered.

  "Yes."

  "There's only one way."

  "What?"

  "I think you know..."

  "Go through a drug program," Carly petulantly replied, scowling.

  "Correct."

  "I can't."

  "You can't...? Or you won't...?"

  Carly didn't respond.

  "I think you're being silly,” Lauren said. "You've got your whole life ahead."

  There was silence. Clearly they had reached an impasse. Terry suspected they'd had this same confrontation before. No doubt with the same result.

  "A few days ago," Lauren said, "I told you I'd keep in touch, but I won't be able to much longer..."

  "Because of me," Carly responded angrily. "Because I won't enter detox."

  "No Carly...because of me."

  "What do you mean because of you?"

  "Because..." Lauren said, obviously uncomfortable, glancing briefly at Terry. "Because...because I'm sick."

  "Sick? What do you mean...sick?"

  "Just as I said. I'm sick."

  "But you're going to get better," Carly said, clearly alarmed.

  "No Carly. According to the doctors... I'm not."

  "You're not going to...to..."

  "It doesn't look good..."

  Lauren's voice tailed off and silence ensued. The horrified look on Carly's face perfectly expressed Terry's feelings. When tears ran down her cheeks, he also felt like crying. He kept glancing at Lauren, hoping for some indication this was all a dreadful mistake. Her somber expression told him it wasn't.

  "So you see," Lauren said, "why I think you're being silly. You've got your whole life ahead, so don't throw it away."

  Another silence. Murdoch picked that moment to pop into the room, transferring attention to himself. Unquestionably, very much to the others' relief.

  "We'll leave you with your dad now," Lauren said, then gave Carly a hug.

  "Will you come back?" Carly asked. "I mean...as long as you're able."

  "Yes," Lauren responded. "I'll come back."

  After saying good bye to Murdoch and Carly, Terry followed Lauren out of the room. As they walked down the corridor, numerous questions ran through his mind. He didn't know where to begin, and was actually thankful she spoke first.

  "Let's not say anything now. Let's just go find a nice place to talk."

  They took his rental car. Neither of them uttered more than half a dozen words until they arrived at the restaurant he picked out a little more than an hour ago on his way to the hospital. For the lunch date she'd called him about.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  "I'm so sorry," Lauren began. "I should have told you way before this… In private."

  Terry could see she was fighting back tears. Instead of feeling like crying himself, as he had at the hospital, he simply felt numb. Too numb to even say something at that moment.

  "I intended to tell you after we saw Carly," Lauren resumed. "But it just kind of slipped out back there."

  "Cancer?" he barely mumbled.

  "I've got lupus. I've had it for years. It didn't get bad, though, until...until after the car accident. They think the stress of everything set it off."

  "And it's life threatening?" he managed.

  "I'm afraid it is. Most people with lupus survive, but I'm subject to blood clots. I've already had three bad episodes."

  He could only shake his head.

  "They've warned me," she continued grimly. "Another could be..."

  He shook his head again. Their waiter came over to take their order. Understandably, neither of them were hungry right then, however, so they asked him to come back.

  The restaurant he had selected was unique. It was a mixture of American diner with a retro look, yet had a definite European flavor featuring paintings of famous locales like the Eiffel Tower and the Danube.

  "I almost told you in the parking lot the other day," she said.

  "You mean when stupid me joked about you being in your prime," he replied glumly. "I'm sorry... I didn't know."

  "Don't apologize. You didn't know."

  "So this is what you meant weeks ago at your place when you said there were some things I didn't know."

  "Yes," she answered softly. "I should have told you right then."

  "Why didn't you?" he asked just as softly.

  "I guess because I didn't know you well enough. I wasn't sure...how I felt."

  "About me?"

  She nodded.

  "Why did you wait this long?" he asked her gently.

  "I'm not sure.... Maybe because of the kids. I didn't want to spoil your relationship with them. With Billy. He's doing so much better."

  "You thought I'd stop seeing all of you if I knew? Run away like Carly."

  "Something like that," she replied somberly.

  He could see she was fighting back tears again. He reached across the table and touched her arm.

  "Speaking of the kids," he said. "Any plans?"

  "You mean...if...?"

  He nodded solemnly.

  "I don't know," she shrugged. "I was hoping my brother would take more interest, but he's got his own life. And, they're not so crazy about him either."

  "Is he why you moved here?"

  "Yes…his being a doctor. With access to more current treatments than I could get in Texas."

  "Has he helped?"

  "He's tried," she sounded grim. "But short of a cure..."

  "There's no chance...this whole thing's not some terrible mistake?"

  "No. No chance."

  "You look pretty healthy to me,” he said, smiling weakly while grasping for any particle of hope.

  "I've been lucky so far. I’ve shown very few external symptoms, other than losing some weight. Which you might have noticed."

  Indeed he had. The fact that she was slender, at any rate, which he'd assumed was a natural characteristic, not a symptom of some life-threatening condition.

  He still had other questions. Things like medications and specific treatments. But he restrained himself. Really, what was the point at this particular time? The waiter came over for their order again, reminding him there was still lunch to try and salvage. Regardless of any lack of appetite either or both of them had.

  They did manage to get through the meal, however,
primarily by chatting about the kids.

  After lunch, he took her to her car, which like last time, was parked in the hospital lot. He parked his car and walked with her to hers. Once she unlocked her door, he kissed her tentatively. She pulled away almost immediately.

  "You sure you want to do this?" she asked, sounding drained.

  He looked at her briefly. Then he kissed her passionately, holding her very close. This time she responded, throwing her arms around him too.

  Terry's consecutive save streak ended that night. The explanation was simple—once the news about Lauren sunk in completely, he couldn't concentrate. He wandered around aimlessly the rest of the day. He couldn't eat, he couldn't read, he couldn't nap, and he even had trouble finding his way to the ball park.

  When he entered the game to begin the ninth, Oakland led Kansas City 5-3. He faced six batters before Rick mercifully removed him. His problem was control of his pitches—either he wasn't able to locate the strike zone, or he sent them right down the middle. Three walks and three doubles put Kansas City ahead 7-5, a lead they never relinquished.

  It was Terry's first major league loss.

  "I've made a decision," Carly greeted Murdoch after he entered her hospital room.

  "What, honey?"

  "Spoke to the doctor a few minutes ago."

  "Yes?"

  "I begin the drug program here tomorrow."

  Murdoch was astounded. Here he'd been agonizing over the road trip about to begin (the hospital was his final stop before the airport, in fact). Like before the last trip, to New York, he'd even considered not going. Maybe try to arrange a personal leave so he could keep an eye on her. Or, at the very least, fly back once or twice during the trip. But now, unexpectedly, she provides the perfect solution at the ideal time. Where she would remain here, under close supervision. Where, he knew from personal experience with her mother's drug programs, his presence was neither required nor even welcomed.

  'What made you decide, honey?"

  "Lauren."

  "Lauren?"

  "Yes," she answered. "Lauren."

  He didn't reply.

  "If she can show all the courage she's showing in her situation," she continued, "least I can do is show a little in mine."