A Stitch in Time Pt. 06

"Do you remember what Mom said to us when we were in line?"

She shook her head.

"She said, 'Now make sure that when it's your turn, you're ready.'"

"She said that all the time," Jill laughed.

"Yeah, well, I just remembered it this weekend. And I realized that, even if I don't remember anything about being on a baseball team the past two years —"

Jill smiled at that.

"— I'm still the team captain. And I don't think I was really ready for that before. But I can't just give it up, so I kind of had to get ready. I don't have a next year, you know?"

"So the tie helps you captain?"

"You know, I think it actually did yesterday. All day long, the guys on the team kept saying to themselves, 'What's he wearin' that ugly tie for?' So by the time we got to the game, and I put on a regular tie, they were ready to listen."

"You gonna wear it again?" Jill giggled.

"Yeah, I think I will. Probably for the game on Thursday."

I could tell from Jill's face that she was lost in her memories of our mother for the next few minutes while I finished my cereal. I was very slowly rinsing my bowl off to put it in the dishwasher, awaiting the question that I knew she wouldn't be able to resist.

"So, of all the times that Mom said that, why did you remember that one?"

"Because that was the only time you asked the obvious question," I smiled, wiping my hands on the dishtowel.

"Which was what?"

"'What if I'm not ready, Mom?'"

"And what did she say?" Jill asked quietly.

"'If you're not ready, honey, it's probably not your turn.'"

I tried to keep the smile off of my face. I mean, I was talking about baseball, but I was really talking about us Sterlings. Damn, I was clever. I gave her a shrug and left the room.

I was at the airport by quarter of three. I had refused assistance from a smiling Skycap, although I did finally accept his offer of a free cart.

"Oh, my goodness!" Tanya shrieked when she saw the mountain of flowers that I had beside me. "Patrick, did you buy a flower store?"

"Sort of," I said bashfully. It was actually more that I didn't know how much you could get when you asked for three hundred dollars worth of flowers.

"How did you get them here?" she asked as I added her suitcase to the cart and we walked out to the parking lot.

"Actually, the real question is how I'm going to get them back in the car,"

It had taken both the florist and me to get them into the back seat of the Civic.

"I don't suppose you want to leave them?" I asked hopefully.

"Of course I don't want to leave them," she said with an astonished look. "What's the occasion?"

"Just missed you," I lied.

"I missed you, too," she said, her voice ringing with the utter sincerity that only made me feel lower.

On the way home, she talked about visiting her grandmother, and I resolutely avoided any discussion of my weekend. Instead, I talked about Monday's ball game, and the fun I had with her mom's present. When we reached her house, I grabbed her suitcase from the trunk and started to walk up the sidewalk.

"Ahem," she cleared her throat and I turned to see her standing by the car. "The flowers?"

"There are more in the house," I nodded toward the door. I walked quickly inside, stopping in the foyer where her mother had arranged the other flowers I had bought in various vases and pitchers.

"Mom?" Tanya yelled as she followed me in.

"They're not here," I told her.

"Really?" her whole face lit up. "You mean they left so we could —"

"Talk," I interrupted her. "We need to talk. Come on."

She followed me into the living room and sat down next to me on the couch, her face showing concern at the direction our conversation had taken.

"First of all, I don't want you to think I'm trying to buy your forgiveness or anything with the flowers. I just got them for you to show you how much you meant to me.

"Mean to me," I corrected myself.

"What have you done?" she asked softly.

I realized that I had been looking at my feet, and looked up at her eyes.

"Been an asshole," I started nodding. "For about the last three weeks."

"The no-hitter?"

"Yeah," I smiled. "I think I figured out what might have happened to me during that time I, um, can't remember."

She waited for me to continue.

"Okay, first of all, I didn't go back to the party to get Jill."

"I knew that," Tanya grinned. "You went back to check out boobs."

I stared at her.

"You're a guy," she shrugged. "And, according to you, you're really still only a 15-year-old guy. You're gonna do stupid things. You found Jill there, right?"

I nodded.

"But first, I, um..."

"Got laid?" she asked bluntly.

"No, I —"

"Got blown?"

"No, I wouldn't let her do that either."

"So what did you do?"

"I had a couple of beers, and then I kind of... I took my finger, see, and kind of..."

"Got her off?"

That was equally blunt.

"I didn't wiggle," I mumbled, looking at my feet again.

I heard a snort and looked up to see a twinkle in her eyes.

"Well, you're forgiven," Tanya giggled. "Stupid thing."

"Stupid thing number one."

Once again, she just waited.

"I went away this weekend, and I didn't tell you. I let you give me a blowjob in the car, which I know you really didn't like doing, but which you did because you felt bad about leaving me alone for the weekend. And I'd forgotten to tell you I was going away, and then I just didn't. I'm sorry."

"Where did you go?" she asked, her tone somber once again.

"UVA. My uncle knew a guy with a plane, and he picked me up right after you left."

"Patrick, I don't understand. Why wouldn't you want me to know you were going to visit UVA? Everybody visits their schools. I went to Cornell last summer."

"It's not that I didn't want you to know," I insisted. "It's that I forgot to tell you. And then when you told me, it was like, I didn't have to feel so bad about forgetting to tell you, because you weren't going to be around anyway."

"Patrick, you just have to learn to talk more. To communicate a little better. I would have understood about your forgetting. I might not have liked it, but I would have understood."

"There's more," I said. I told her about Sarah, and there was no twinkle in her eye when I finished that story. She just sat there, nodding slightly, looking at me, thinking about what I had said.

"So I wanted to say that I was sorry about everything that I did," I blurted out. "And I wanted you to know everything that I did, 'cause like you said, I need to do a better job communicating. I need to be an adult and not a 15-year-old. So I'm sorry, Tanya."

I looked back down at my feet and gave a little laugh.

"I also wanted to ask you to go to the Spring Formal next weekend. But I'll understand if you don't want to."

"Patrick," she said, her voice filled with anguish or dismay.

"I know," I said. "You're still my best friend, Tanya. I'm sorry I wasn't yours."

I stood up and walked toward the door.

"Honey, wait," I heard. I turned to find Tanya standing directly behind me.

"Patrick, I need to think about this a little. But do me a favor, okay?"

"Anything," I said.

She gave me a ghost of a smile.

"Don't ask anyone else until I say no."

I returned her smile and nodded.

"Thanks, Tanya."

"See you tomorrow, Patrick. Oh, and Patrick?"

"Yes?"

"No more beer, huh?"

I drove home, skipped dinner, and spent the rest of the night in my room. Step three hadn't gone quite as well.

Fortunately, Step Two paid off in spades the next day. Tanya said hello in Religion, but sat with her yearbook buddies for lunch. Nobody in our group said anything about it, which actually made it a little worse. I went through the motions at practice that afternoon, loosening up in preparation for my start against McKay the next day. It wasn't until I was leaving the locker room after dressing that the day changed. There, sitting on the bench in the hallway — sitting together on the bench in the hallway, and smiling — were my sisters.

I stopped in the doorway, nonplussed by the sight. Bobby Bunt slammed into me and bounced off backwards.

"Sorry, man," I said, giving him a hand up. "Just thinking."

"No problem, Cap," he said, slipping around me. "Ladies."

"Hi, Bobby," Jill and Jeanne chirped in unison.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Yeah, right," Jill said. "You and your little 'if you're not ready, maybe it's not your turn' speech."

"Yeah, that was really subtle, Trick," Jeanne said, practically bouncing up and down on the bench. "Thanks."

"So what happened?" I asked.

"You're right, I'm not ready," Jill said. "I'm not ready to be as dedicated as Jeanne is. Maybe next year."

"So you quit?" I asked. "Three weeks before the show?"

"No, she didn't quit," Jeanne said defensively. "She went to Collins and said that she wanted to be Liesl, and since I already knew all of Maria's songs, he didn't have much choice."

"So you threatened to quit?" I said.

"Maybe," Jill smiled. "What are you, a lawyer?"

"Nope," I leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead. "Just a grateful, happy brother." I kissed Jeanne as well. "Time to go home, girls?"

Tanya stopped me after Religion the next day and dragged me down to the same classroom that Jeanne and I had been in the previous week.

"Nice tie," she broke the silence after we had sat down.

"You like it?" I smiled. "It was a gift."

"It's pretty ugly," she laughed. "I noticed a couple of the other guys on the team wearing ties today."

"Yeah, we're kinda dressing up now. So what's up?"

"What happened to Jeanne?"

"To Jeanne?"

"Last week she was miserable. I saw her in the halls today and she's laughing and giggling."

"She's Maria," I smiled. "You know, doe a deer, and all that."

"What about Jill?"

"She decided she'd rather be, um..."

"Liesl?"

"If that's the daughter, yeah."

"Why?"

"She just decided she wasn't ready," I shrugged.

"Nobody suggested to her that she might not be ready?" Tanya asked with a grin.

"You mean like Collins?"

"I mean like somebody Jill actually likes," her grin grew bigger.

"What makes you think that?" I shrugged again.

"I see somebody trying to fix everything in his life all of a sudden, and I think, maybe he talked to Jill."

"Could be."

"Could it be somebody I might be going to the Formal with?"

I stopped breathing and just stared.

"I thought so," Tanya said. She got up to leave. I was rooted to my chair.

"Oh, and Patrick?" she said as she reached the door.

I still couldn't talk.

"Get a room," she deadpanned.

"A room?" I choked out.

Usually, the Formal was held in the gym. This year, the redoubtable Margie Williams, the Chief, had set up a package deal with the Marriott in the big city, and the hotel had also made a bloc of rooms available.

"I might want to change clothes," she giggled. The door closed behind her. I slowly hauled myself to my feet. Was I a lucky bastard or what?

Now the only question was whether it would hold through the rematch with McKay that afternoon. It was going to be close. In the second, their cleanup hitter, a guy built like a refrigerator, sent one of my fastballs over the center field fence in the second inning faster than it had come in. Mattie played particularly well, at least, and when a ball was popped up to the left side in the fourth, I called Rabbit off and let Matt make the catch.

By the end of the fourth, we had a 3-1 lead. That turned into a 3-2 lead with one out in the top of the fifth when the same guy who'd jacked the home run earlier turned around on one of my change-ups and belted it over the right field fence. By that point, Jill and Jeanne and Sammy had joined Cammie and Tanya in the bleachers. They appeared to be as worried as Coach was. I was a little worried, too. If I put one more guy on base, Paul Bunyan would be up again in the top of the seventh.

I gritted my teeth and struck out the last two batters in the fifth. Then I struck out the first two in the top of the sixth, and got the third, a pinch hitter for their pitcher, to hit a weak grounder to Matt at third. I tried not to hold my breath, but Mattie scooped it up and effortlessly threw the guy out at first for the final out.

And then in the top of the seventh, I walked the leadoff hitter. My guys moved in for the double play, and the asshole stole second base. Tommy came trotting out to the mound, apologizing profusely.

"That's okay," I said miserably, nodding toward Mr. Muscles standing at the entrance to the dugout. "You can pitch to Paul Bunyan over there."

I was seriously rattled, and I hit the next guy with a pitch. Their number three hitter followed, and shocked us all with a perfect bunt up the third base line. Matt had no play on it, and the bases were loaded with nobody out. Tommy ran out to the mound again.

"Just keep 'em moving in and out," he said. "Don't keep puttin' 'em in the same spot."

"Uh-huh," I nodded, scuffing the dirt around the rubber with my foot. I knew that.

"That's what I do best," I pointed out. "In and out."

"Well, that's not what Tanya said," Tommy answered. "So I figured I'd better remind you."

He turned and ran back to the plate while I replayed Tommy's words in my head. When I was set on the mound once more, I was doing my best not to smile.

"Asshole," I mouthed as I looked in for the sign.

I'm sure Tommy was smiling behind his mask as he gave me the sign for the fastball. One finger. Usually not that one, though. I reared back and threw the hardest pitch I'd thrown so far that game. Paul Bunyan was way behind it. Strike one. I just missed the outside corner with the next pitch, and was low with the pitch after that. Angry at myself, I left the next fastball out over the plate, and he clubbed it one more time. We all stood and watched as it curved just foul down the right field line. Two balls and two strikes. I tried a change on the next pitch, and missed again. Full count. The Neanderthal smiled at me as I paced the mound. I had to throw a strike. I couldn't walk the tying run home.

I leaned in for the sign. Tommy put down three fingers. Three? Was he nuts? I shook my head vigorously. He put down three again, and I just raised my eyebrows. He called time and came trotting out.

"The curve?" I hissed. "Why don't you just call for a free pass and get it over with?"

"Just throw it," Tommy said quietly.

"Who's in charge here?" I asked.

"I am," he answered me. "That's why I'm the catcher. Throw the damn curve."

I threw the damn curve. And it bounced two feet in front of the damn plate, just like it always did. And the guy swung so far out in front of it, he could have started walking back to the dugout before Tommy had the ball in his glove. The bleachers erupted in cheers. I pointed in at Tommy and he pointed back at me. I easily struck the next two batters out and the game was over.

"Hey," I said to Tommy in the shower. "Nice call."

"Yeah," he smiled. "Nice listen."

"Asshole."

"Say, Trick, can you give me a ride home?"

I mentally toted up my potential passengers, Jeanne, Jill and Tanya, and said that I'd be happy to give him a ride. When we got to the car, though, I realized that I had forgotten to include Sammy.

"That's all right," Jill said. "We can all squeeze in."

I got in the driver's seat and Tanya sat in the passenger seat. I looked back to see Jill on Tommy's lap. Tommy was just sitting there with a stupid smile on his face.

"Everybody ready?" I asked before pulling out into traffic.

I was stopped at a red light when Jill piped up.

"So why'd you shake off the curve?"

I turned around to stare at her.

"Why'd I what?"

"Shake off the curve? The guy had tagged your fastball and your change. Why didn't you want to throw the curve?"

"Who are you? Jilly Zelasko?"

She giggled, and stuck her tongue out at me, wiggling a little on Tommy's lap. Jeanne Zelasko was the studio host on FOX's baseball pre-game show.

"Light's green," Jill pointed out.

I pulled into Tommy's driveway and got out to help him get his gear out of the trunk.

"Thanks for the ride," he said in a detached voice.

"No prob," I said. "Sorry about the crowding."

"Yeah," he grinned as he took a deep breath. "Smells like spring, don't you think?"

"Just go in the house, Narburg," I smiled at him.

Saturday turned out to be the most surreal day of the week, however. We had an eleven o'clock game at Turner High School, and damned if every single one of the guys didn't show up for the team bus in a tie. Donnie pitched for us, and even though we lost, 6-4, we actually made a very creditable showing. I once again stood at the bottom of the bus to shake hands with everyone after the game.

Because the game was early, I got home just after the start of the FOX Game of the Week. Jill was already there, watching intently. I grabbed a Coke and sat down next to her on the couch.

"So like, catchers are the smartest guys on the team, right?" she asked after the third inning.

"Some teams," I admitted grudgingly. "Why?"

"I just noticed that all these announcer guys are former catchers," she pointed out. "So I figure they must be pretty smart, huh?"

"I guess."

She spoke again after the fifth.

"So Tommy's pretty smart, huh?"

"Tommy Narburg?"

"Yeah, he's your catcher. He's pretty smart, right?"

"I guess. He's taking calculus, so I suppose he is."

She let that slide until the seventh inning stretch.

"So when is Tommy going to ask me to the Spring Formal?"

I stared at her for a few seconds before I decided to see if the question sounded any less ludicrous in my voice.

"When is Tommy going to ask you to the Spring Formal?"

It didn't.

"Yeah. When?"

"I think he's waiting for Paris Hilton to get back to him, but if she bails, you're his next choice. She may decide to go to jail instead."

She slugged me — actually slugged me — in the arm.

"Ow."

"That's not funny, Trick. I thought he was your friend."

"He is my friend," I protested. But it was funny.

"First of all," I said, "let's forget the when, and in place of you we'll substitute any girl at Marshall High School. And in place of the Spring Formal we'll substitute something with a little less pressure, like going for a hot dog. So we have the question, 'Is Tommy Narburg going to ask a girl to go for a hot dog?' And the answer is no. So —"

"Is he gay?" she interrupted.

"I don't think so," I said slowly. "Just a little shy."

All right, he was a lot shy.

"He likes me," Jill added.

"I'm sure he does," I agreed. "What's not to like? You have a" — stunning — "cute face, a" — bombshell — "nice figure and" — you smell like spring — "you shower pretty regularly."

"He had a hard-on when I was sitting in his lap," she said defensively.

I nearly spit out my soda.

"The Pope would have a hard-on if you sat in his lap," I pointed out. "But he wouldn't ask you to the Formal either. Sorry, kid. If you want to go to the Formal with Tommy Narburg, you're going to have to ask him yourself."

She sat back in the couch, a smile on her lips. The next day at church, the minister preached about the Sermon on the Mount, the one where Jesus said, "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." I figured he must have been talking about the Tommy Narburgs of the world, so I added my own prayer. If by inheriting the earth he meant going to the Spring Formal with my sister Jill, Tommy was going to need all the help he could get.