Page 34 of The Third Baseman

Penn Shepherd and I needed a little talk.

“Doctor Matthews, Marnie, how are you? Come in. Are you settling in okay?” He opened the door almost before I had a chance to knock, and something told me he already knew I was on the way… or maybe he could hear my huffing from all the stairs and the speed I’d run up them.

Penn stood there grinning, his wide, boyish smile and short blonde hair making him look far too young to be running a major league team.

This was not like walking into the N.A.S.A. Administrator’s office, not that I everhadwalked into the Administrator’s office.

Or was even invited onto his floor.

“I’m good, thank you. It’s my second week now.” I nodded with a bashful smile, unsure of why I suddenly felt so intimidated.

Maybe it was because he was so tall.

Or maybe it was because I’d found out the real reason I was at his club.

Or maybe it was what I was about to say, and he’d think I was being dumb – though my PhD could prove him otherwise.

“Do you have a minute? Can I talk to you about a couple of things… ideas I’ve had?”

“Sure, come in. You want some coffee?”

“Yes, that would be good. Thanks.” I took a seat in the chair opposite his desk, behind the plate glass window.

The view of the field I had in my office was at ground level, and I really couldn’t see a whole lot beyond a stretch of green surrounded by arena seating. The view Penn had, however, was the owner’s view. The entire field was below us; the rich terracotta fan of sand around three bright white bases, and the plate.

The New York Lions’ diamond.

Even as someone who didn’t really care that much about baseball, I could appreciate how lovely it was.

“Good, right?” Penn turned around from the window and sat down at his desk, hands clasped in front of him. “So what’s up?”

When Penn Shepherd had first come to find me in Houston, he’d said he wanted me to use science to make his players better; to throw better and to hit better.

Science, he kept saying.

If you can put a rocket in space, you can get a ball to fly better – or a player to throw faster and hit harder, he said.

Like it was that simple.

If I’d been in the right mind I’d have interrogated his reasoning a little, or at all. If I hadn’t been thinking about Jupiter, or trying very hard not to think about Jupiter, then I would have followed through with the sole reason I went to meet Penn Shepherd in the first place – to tell him no.

But I wasn’t and I didn’t, so some of that conversation was about to happen right now.

“Did Lowe tell you that she took me for lunch last week? Her and Beulah. It was fun, and eye opening.” I raised a brow so he’d understand exactly what I was talking about, even though I knew he did.

Lowe had gone straight back to Penn and told him about our conversation.

I received his standard wry smile.

“Yeah, she did. I wondered what this meeting was about.”

I laughed as the door opened. One of his assistants walked in with coffee and placed them down in front of us.

“That depends, I guess.” I picked up one of the steaming cups and blew on it. “I’ve spent the last week trying to figure out how I can help you. You wanted me to use science, but it’s not quite that simple.”

Penn’s brow furrowed deeply, tiny lines appearing on his boyish face, and I remembered Lowe telling me that it wasn’t often he heard the word ‘no’. That’s if he heard it at all.

“I don’t need to tell you that rockets and baseballs are not the same.”

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