Page 13 of Double Play

We make our way out of my building and see a huge, black stretch limousine. We get in, and as the driver pulls out, Layton says, “We’ve got a ninety-minute ride. Maybe we should get toknow each other a little bit. We’re supposed to be a couple. There are certain things we should probably know about one another.”

“You’re right. As you learned only this morning, my name is Arizona Abbott. I suppose despite being good friends with Quincy for most of the past year, you never bothered to ask his sister’s name.”

He does appear a little embarrassed for not knowing. “I’m sorry about that. He never mentioned a name. I don’t like talking about my past, so I tend not to ask people about theirs. I’ll work on being better. How much older is he?”

“Five years. I’m twenty-eight, in case you don’t know how old yourbestieis.”

He sighs in annoyance and then nods for me to continue.

“We grew up in a small Northern California town where our parents still live. We were a modest, middle-class family. We both played ball at UCLA but obviously not at the same time. Quincy was drafted after his junior year. I graduated and then played professional softball in Southern California until last week when I signed with the Anacondas.”

“Why did you agree to come to a new, unproven team?”

“I guess, in part, I wanted to be closer to Quincy. We haven’t lived in the same town since he first left for college. The other part is that my roommate, Ripley, is my childhood best friend. She moved from Canada when we were in elementary school, and we’ve been tight ever since. We played softball together through college. I was drafted to the Anaheim, California team, and she was drafted to the Houston, Texas team. Coming here was an opportunity for us to play and live together again. We can’t play softball forever. This was a shot to finish our careers on the same team, just as we started them.”

And I needed to get away from the nightmare of the past year.

“Houston? That’s where your brother played his whole career until this year, right?”

I nod. “It is. I’m sure they saw each other around. They’ve always been on friendly terms. Kind of a brother and sister relationship.”

“What position do you play, Arizona?”

“Catcher.”

“Like me.”

“I’m way better than you. I can gun them down from my knees.”

He smirks. “I have no doubt you’re good on your knees.”

I narrow my eyes at him, but he simply keeps smiling. “What number are you?”

He gives me a look that suggests he knows the answer. He must have Googled me today.

“Same as yours. Eight.”

“Did you pick it because of me? I know you had a poster of me above your bed. You looked at me every night before you went to sleep.”

My big fucking mouth. I’m never drinking again. At least I didn’t tell him that I did choose my number because of him. “No, I chose it because Yogi Berra was number eight, and he’s the greatest catcher of all time.”

His face lights up. “That’s why I chose it too.”

“What about you? What’s your story? Other than the obvious things people know about you.”

He briefly looks out the window. “I grew up in a run-down, small town in Oklahoma. As you may know, my parents were in a fatal car crash when I was a baby. I somehow survived it without a single scratch, but they didn’t. I was raised by my grandmother, who was kind of quirky and spread thin but had a heart of gold. Things were a bit of a struggle, but we persevered.”

I know this story. Most people do. It’s been highlighted on ESPN many times throughout the years. How he overcame tragedy and poverty to become an all-star baseball player. A true rags-to-riches story.

He continues, “She ran a group home for kids without parents until she died when I was twenty. There were always little ones in and out of our house, waiting to be fostered or adopted. I keep in touch with a few of them. I was drafted out of high school, and I’ve been in Philly ever since.” He looks down. “I know I’m headed toward the end of my career, but I think I still have a few years left in me. Philly and the Cougars are the only family I have. I’m not ready to give it up just yet.”

“How come you never got married?” I’ve never even read about him having a girlfriend. I’ve known him for less than a day, and I can already tell he aches for a family and a sense of belonging.

“It’s not a conscious decision. There’s never been anyone special enough in my life to make me consider it.”

“That’s kind of sad.”

“Your brother is a year younger than me and hasn’t gotten married yet.”

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