“But you’re clearly not feeling very well, Dan,” David said, concerned. “It’s been a long day, and I’m sure you’ll feel better if we get you home and in bed.”

  “Dad,” Dan said with a serious voice, “I’m going to have plenty of time to sleep, soon enough.”

  David’s eyes widened, and he shook his head slowly. “No, you’ll be fine, son.”

  “No, Dad,” Dan said with a firm voice. “It’s happening again. And quickly.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Coach Dan

  David put up no further resistance to his son on the ball diamond that night, and the two men drove the 20 miles to Addison in near silence. What scant conversation there was centered mostly on the weather and the Reds, who were looking very good as summer approached, but danced around the two topics both of them wanted and needed to discuss.

  When they made their way to the visiting stands at Bulldog Field, Dan nudged David in the ribs with his elbow and pointed to the hand-operated scoreboard above the center field wall.

  “Looks like maybe they don’t need me, after all,” Dan said, and smiled.

  David’s gaze followed his son’s index finger, and he whistled when he saw the score: 8-2 Eagles in the bottom of the fourth inning.

  “Wow,” David said. “Well, they may not have needed you tonight, so far, but they definitely would not be pounding the Cadets like that without your help. South Pick was completely reliant on defense and pitching before you started coaching them in batting practice.”

  Dan deflected the compliment, bowing his head as he said, “I haven’t really been ‘coaching’ them, Dad. We just talk about stuff, and I tell them if I see something I think would help their hitting. Someday, all high school teams will have access to video equipment, and then the players will be able to diagnose their own problems.”

  “I don’t know, Dan,” David said. “That sounds like coaching to me.”

  Dan shrugged and said, “Maybe. Whatever. Let’s see if White Water can score any runs this inning.”

  As it turned out, they couldn’t, which brought up the Eagles and number-two hitter Jim Franklin. As a small but quick middle infielder, Jim was good at taking walks and slapping “cheap” singles just out of the infield, and in this case, he managed to bunt his way on base. That brought up Ted Waterman, who, as the team’s number-three hitter, was expected to carry one of the best bats in the lineup.

  Croft considered Ted to be Dan’s prized pupil , though neither boy thought of their relationship in quite that way. Just a year behind Dan, Ted had spent most of his high school years as a spindly pitcher but managed to add 30 solid pounds to his frame between his junior and senior seasons. The extra heft made him stronger, but coach Croft was reluctant to put him back on the mound for fear that Jim’s new muscles would interfere with his delivery. At the same time, Ted hadn’t played anywhere in the field except the mound for years.

  So, when the season began, Croft shifted senior left fielder Eric Jasmine down into Dan’s old slot at third and parked Ted in left field, the same place all big bats with suspect gloves end up. And, while Ted had looked fine, and at times special, in the outfield, it appeared Coach’s fears about the bulkier frame slowing him down may have been warranted after the first 10 games of the season. At that point, Ted was hitting just .052 with no home runs and 17 strikeouts in 31 at-bats.

  It was about that time Croft began frequenting HBM’s games, and it didn’t take him long to hit on the idea of asking Dan to join the Eagles for batting practice one night. The coach thought he knew what the problem was with Ted’s approach, and he had hinted at it in their hitting sessions, but he suspected it might be better received if it came from a peer. The coach also hoped digging in to a mentor role would suit Dan and would give the young man even more motivation to try and stay as involved in the game as he could.

  Dan had agreed and showed up around 6:30 that first night, just as the Eagles were spreading out for some extra batting practice. He spent a few minutes catching up with his former teammates and then camped out behind the backstop, fingers laced through its chain links.

  He had watched in silence through the first few batters, only one of whom he really knew, and offering just a quiet, “Let’s go, Ted,” as Waterman strode to the plate. The big left-hander looked out to the mound where Croft was pitching, setting his feet near the back of the box. The first pitch came in belt-high, a perfect — if slow — fastball that Waterman should have crushed but instead lunged at with an off-balanced swing that left his hips nearly stationary but his arms whipping around the right side of his waist.

  The second pitch was nearly identical, and, though Waterman managed to make contact, it was much weaker contact than it should have been, and the ball skipped sickly down the first-base line.

  “Hey, Wet,” Dan called.

  Waterman shot Dan an annoyed look. “What?” he snapped.

  “You afraid of the ball, or something?” Dan teased.

  Ted’s eyes flashed in anger, then his expression smoothed as he realized what Dan was trying to say.

  “No, man,” Waterman said. “I just want to be able to pull the inside ball.”

  The two boys had moved toward each other, separated by the backstop.

  Dan began again. “Look, Ted , I know you’ve added some muscle, and those guns look great, but you can’t power the ball out of the park, or even through the infield, without using your hips and legs.”

  Ted was nodding. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

  “And, if you move a little closer to the plate, you won’t have to hold the bat all the way down at the knob. Choke up just a bit and you’ll have much better control and still be able to cover the strike zone. Croft’s fastball won’t even leave a red mark if it hits you, so get in there and claim your space.”

  Ted exhaled and let his shoulders fall. It was an expression of both surrender and relief, as he was admitting he wasn’t yet ready to be the next Mickey Mantle but also happy he didn’t have to try to hit a home run with every swing.

  “OK, Dan,” Waterman said.

  As Ted stepped back into the box, at least a foot closer to the plate than before, Dan called out again: “And don’t forget to swivel your hips toward the field when you follow through.”

  Waterman touched the bill of his batting helmet in acknowledgment and looked back toward the mound, waiting for Croft’s next offering.

  The coach once again delivered a fat fastball over the middle of the plate, but this time Ted met the ball squarely and pushed it out into center field, shallow but deep enough to make him smile.

  “Good,” Dan called. “Make sure to flip your hips open, though.They moved some, but you have plenty more power in those pegs of yours.”

  “Shut up!” Ted yelled back, but his voice was good-natured. “Just gotta get my timing down now that I’m using all your fancy advice!”

  Waterman set up one more time, and Croft fired off yet another fastball. This one tailed outside, but it didn’t matter for Ted, who caught it just as it broke the plane of the plate and drove hard with his left leg, torquing the ball deep to right field. On the mound, Croft flipped around to follow the flight of the hit, and Dan whooped as the white spheroid flew past the rickety outfield fence and bounced toward the sewage plant.

  “Heads up, Mr. Collins!” Dan hollered, invoking the name of the crotchety history teacher who spent nights and weekends treating the school’s waste water.

  Ted looked back to Dan and pumped his fist.

  On the mound, Croft smiled and nodded to Dan. He mouthed the words, “Nice job.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Faded Hero

  As Waterman stepped in against Kurt Gregory, the Cadets’ fireballing righty, Dan recalled the moment at batting practice that had turned around Ted’s season. Really, it was also the moment that had turned around the Eagles’ season, because as soon as Big Ted started to hit, so did the rest of the team. The guys in front of Ted in the lineup turned their attention to getting on base so he could drive them in, and the guys behind him were usually hitting without pressure since Waterman regularly cleared the bases with his big knocks.

  From that day in late April until the end of the season, Ted hit .583 with 10 home runs and 31 runs batted in over the course of 10 games. Pitchers seemed afraid to pitch to him and had started walking him, which meant he got on base, one way or the other, nearly 80% of the time.

  But Kurt Gregory was a talent in his own right, and he didn’t back down from anyone. When Ted dug in and set up close to the plate, Gregory wasted no time in uncorking a high inside fastball that sent Ted sprawling to the ground. Eagles fans booed, and players from both teams exchanged angry stares, but the home plate ump stepped forward and raised both hands, urging everyone to stay calm. He pointed to the mound and yelled, “Watch it, Gregory.”

  After the crowd settled down, Ted stepped into the box again, but about a foot outside where he should have been. Before Dan could even think about it, Gregory laid in another fastball, and Ted waved at it, his hands all the way down at the knob.

  From the dugout, Croft called out, “Step up there, Waterman, and choke up!”

  Ted shot a disbelieving look to his coach but then did as instructed. Gregory took his time with the next pitch, finally offering up an off-speed ball that looked like one of those Bugs Bunny slo-mo pitches that caused the Gashouse Gorillas such fits in the old cartoons. It was a textbook sequence, but Ted was looking for another fastball and swung way too early, twisting his body into the ground like a corkscrew.

  Dan noticed Waterman had been slightly off-balance, weight on his front foot throughout the at-bat and tried to catch Croft’s eye to key him in, but the coach was too focused on the action on the field. Dan bounced back and forth nervously as Ted stepped back into the box, wanting to help but knowing he wasn’t allowed in the dugout.

  Finally, just as Ted was setting up, Dan yelled out, “Lean back, Ted!”.

  The catcall distracted Waterman, who called for time and stepped out of the box. He looked into the stands and met Dan’s eyes, nodding his understanding. Then he settled back into his stance, this time looking much more balanced.

  Up in the count two strikes to one ball, Gregory would most likely try to end the encounter with a bang by blowing a fastball by Ted, and Dan looked out to the mound to watch the big pitcher set up. Immediately, Dan noticed Gregory was standing with his left foot closer to third base than it had been throughout the inning to that point. When he threw either a fastball or change-up, Gregory set up with his feet in a direct line with home plate, so this slight angle could mean he was planning a different offering.

  Dan had played against Gregory a couple of times and had heard about him plenty, so he ran through the right-hander’s repertoire in his mind. The fastball and change were his bread and butter, but Dan seemed to remember Gregory had been working on something else toward the end of the previous season, too. As the pitcher went into his windup, the light-bulb went on for Dan.

  “Curveball!” he yelled, and reflexively clapped a hand over his mouth as if he’d just divulged a national secret.

  In the box, Ted’s head flinched, but the rest of his body remained rock solid. The pitch rolled toward home just above belt-high but then downward, only slightly, as it crossed the plate. Gregory had hung his curveball, and Ted was ready for it. He swung hard and met the ball on the back half of the plate, a violent hip flip helping him pull the pitch into center field. Dan watched the ball climb into the night and could see in his peripheral vision that Gregory had fallen to the ground as he spun to watch the flight.

  The Cadets’ center fielder sprinted all the way to the wall, but he was left to watch and admire as the ball carried into the gloaming and disappeared down a hill that led to the parking lot.

  Back on the field, Ted clenched his fist near his chest as he circled the bases, and Eagles fans cheered in celebration of his home run.

  Dan’s eyes followed his lumbering former teammate around the diamond, and the two nodded to each other when Ted stepped on home plate. As Waterman bent to pick up his bat and teammates stepped toward the on-deck circle to congratulate him, Dan heard a shout from the direction of the Eagles’ dugout.

  “Nice call, Coach!” the voice called out.

  Dan looked around to see Croft with his hands at the sides of his mouth for amplification. The coach smiled and gave Dan a thumbs-up. Dan returned the smile, and David clasped his son on the shoulder.

  “Great job, Dan,” David said.

  “Thanks, Dad,” Dan replied. He rubbed his eyes and followed up with, “Dad?”

  “Yes, Dan?”

  “I’m not feeling very well. I think I need to go home.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Slipping Away

  Dan was asleep before David had even pulled out of the Addison parking lot, and David smiled as cheers erupted once again from the stadium behind him. Evidently, Ted’s home run had not been the last of the South Pickens fireworks in the fifth inning.

  Once David was on the road, though, he looked across the seat at his slumbering son, and all the mirth drained from his body. Dan’s face was slack and white, and he was breathing deeply and regularly. His shoulder belt held his upper body in place, but his head slumped and bobbed forward, causing his neck to crane toward the dash so far David feared any bump might cause damage.

  David pulled onto the berm, reached across the seat to unfasten Dan’s seat belt, stretched the boy across the seat, and laid Dan’s head in his lap. He fastened the lap belt around Dan’s waist and snapped himself back into the driver’s seat. It was not the most secure riding arrangement David had ever seen, but he thought it would be good enough to keep Dan from sliding off the seat, and it would protect his neck. Besides, David was in no hurry and would drive very carefully.

  When they arrived home just over an hour later, Clara’s car was already in the driveway, and the kitchen light was on. It was barely 7:30 and the sun hung low in the late spring sky, but the Hodges house was situated under a grove of walnut trees that provided enough shade to make it feel like night.

  David hopped out of the cab and walked around to Dan’s side of the truck. There, he opened the door, unfastened Dan’s seatbelt once again, and slid the young man to the edge of the seat. David steeled himself for the effort and scooped Dan into his outstretched arms, carrying him like a baby stretched out for a nap. David hadn’t lifted his son in more than 10 years, and he was surprised how easily it came back to him, despite the fact Dan weighed more than David himself. A father’s love is strong, Dan thought, and laughed a little at his own corniness.

  By the time David made it to the back door with Dan in his arms, Clara had heard the truck doors and stepped out on the stoop to greet her men.

  “What’s going on?!” she exclaimed, worry on her face.

  David tried to remain calm and comfort his wife. “It’s OK, Clara,” he said. “I think he’s just been doing too much lately, and this has been a really big day.”

  Clara clutched at her husband’s arm and stroked Dan’s forehead.

  David motioned toward the interior of the house with his head. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get him in bed, and then I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Clara nodded nervously but stepped aside to let David in.

  —

  Thirty minutes later, David and Clara sat at the kitchen table, holding hands around cups of hot coffee. David had filled her in on the morning workout where Dan met Harry Foster and the invitation to Cincinnati. He also told her about the trip to Addison and how Dan had maybe saved the game with his coaching advice.

  She had nodded throughout his narrative, but she still looked worried.

  “But what happened, David?” she asked. “Why did he pass out?”