Page 107 of Diamond Ring
“The cards are telling you to think about it.” She smiles. “Also, if you went, we might want to visit you. I know Evie would appreciate the art.”
“Does that mean you don’t dislike Jake anymore?”
He gets a tsking noise in response. “I never disliked him. I just thought he was a little...” She searches for a word.
“Young?” he suggests. “We both were.”
“Sure, if that’s what you think it was. The world demanded too much from you, too fast. I always wanted you to have someone who treated you like...” Another trailed sentence, awaiting his answer, a purposeful blank for him to fill in.
Alex’s phone buzzes. Jake, asking if he’s still up. If he needs anything. If he’s feeling okay given yesterday’s game. With that, a screenshot of a cartoon goose holding a knife and yelling at a farmer. The goose is labeledAlex.
“He does,” Alex says. “Treat me like that.”
Sofia nods approvingly. “Good. Then I’m sure you’ll work the rest out.”
Alex studies the stack of unrevealed cards, how they forecast an infinite number of possible futures. “I really hope so.”
Jake
They do on-field introductions for game three, each player coming out to attendant applause. Jake gets a modest ovation, but the crowd goes a little wild for Alex, who has become something of a folk hero this postseason, especially when they flash a picture from his first year with the Elephants on the scoreboard. Then another even louder boom of applause when they show a picture Jake snuck them, Alex dressed for a high school game, long hair crushed under his hat, ears decorated with piercings.
Their starter gets pulled early, and Jake gets up in the hopes that moving around will remind the team he exists. A ploy that doesn’t work, but at least gives him something to do other than twist a towel between his hands and grimace as they lose the game.
His parents try for cheerful when they meet up afterward.
“Sorry, you probably won’t get to see me play,” he says, then regrets it when his mom smiles like she would after a bad game when he was young.
“You’re back here,” she says. As if that’s enough to be satisfied with.
At least he can, with some pride, cover their hotel costs without having to look at his bank balance first.The team in Japan pays well, he reminds himself, and asks if they’re liking their rooms.
At his apartment, he grabs his journal when he’s in bed and flips to a blank page.Didn’t give up any runs today.A technical truth.The photo thing with Alex was funny. Especially to the bullpen, though guys who sit around for all but one inning of a game tend to be easy to amuse.
Alex loves me, and I love him.
There it is, in plain letters, ones he can’t—won’t—erase, the simple fact of his adult life condensed to two phrases. Enough to make him open up the browser on his phone, to bypass all the searches he’s done about the specifics of playing overseas in favor of a simpler one.Professional baseball teams Rhode Island.
Two results: the minor-league affiliate for the Boston team and an independent-league team that probably pays in beer. Back to where he was for a decade, under half-working stadium lights, with expanding debt and a shrinking hope of promotion to the majors.
Except Alex will be there.
He turns to a blank notebook page. Writes his thinking out in short bullet points. That he wants to keep playing. That, after a decade, he’s done with the constant roil of anxiety about being released. That he wants—a clarity of want he hasn’t felt since his rookie year—to go someplace that thinks he’s more than a stopgap or a failed superstar, to a league that prioritizes pitch development beyond raw stuff. That takes him as he is and will work with him to make him better, or at least let him ease into his retirement. Which isn’t anyplace stateside.
He goes back to his original entry, adding a brief addendum.
Alex loves me,and I love him...Is that enough?He closes his journal when it provides no immediate answer.
Alex
The team goes into game four riding a collective anger Alex hasn’t seen in years. Even Charlie’s pissed, albeit quietly, shaking the bracelet he’s been wearing for the past few games, its blue evil-eye bead watching them with a skeptical gaze.
That anger turns to hits, to base-stealing, to their pitchers hurling with an exacting fire, and Alex spends the game wondering if he’s going to see smoke pouring up from the mound.
They win, afuck youof a win that evens the series at two games apiece. The clubhouse is boisterous afterward, guys dancing and razzing each other and Gordon loudly promising cash rewards to whoever can steal a base off Morales the next game.
Later, as he’s leaving, Alex is about ninety percent of the way to the clubhouse door when Gordon intercepts him. “Hey, Angel, if you’re not busy, I was hoping Toni could get an interview with you.”
Alex doesn’t roll his eyes. Well, almost doesn’t. “Now?” Because he’s tired from playing and the prospect of doing it again tomorrow, even if being on the West Coast meant the game started at five and was over by eight thirty.
