Newell picked up the binder he’d been studying when Zak entered the room. “You know what this is?”
“A lineup book,” Zak replied.
“Damn right it is,” Newell said, and pushed it across his desk so that Zak could see it. “And this particular page is the lineup for game two of the playoffs. You can see that at the moment, I haven’t written anybody in as the starting pitcher. Normally, that would be your name there, but as of now you are suspended for conduct detrimental to the team.”
“What conduct?” Zak asked, fighting to keep back tears.
“Disrespect and attempting to hurt one of your teammates,” Newell replied.
“That’s not fair,” Zak exclaimed.
Newell leaned across his desk and fixed his eyes on the boy’s. “I decide what’s fair around here. Now, I don’t need to remind you that these playoff games attract a lot of attention from college and pro scouts, and it would be a shame for them not to see you. But I will not hesitate to keep you on the bench if your attitude doesn’t improve, and I mean pronto. Do I make myself clear?”
Zak dipped his head so that the coach wouldn’t see the anger in his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“Good, now get the hell out of here,” Newell said, and then softened his tone. “Glad to have you on board, Zak; you’re going to have a hell of a career.”
Giancarlo was waiting for Zak outside the coach’s office. “Don’t say anything,” Zak said, looking at his brother. “I’m not in the mood.”
Closing his mouth, Giancarlo fell in step with Zak as they walked down the hallway toward the exit. But he couldn’t remain quiet. “I’m proud of you.”
Zak paused. “Yeah? Well you know what you being proud of me means? It means that if my ‘attitude’ doesn’t improve, he’s going to bench me for the playoffs. Right now I’m suspended for conduct detrimental to the team.”
“That’s crap! We need to tell someone,” Giancarlo sputtered.
“He’ll say I misinterpreted what he wanted me to pitch and that I was insubordinate,” Zak replied. “And that I purposefully tried to hurt Worley so that I could be the starting pitcher in game one. And this team will back him up, especially the upperclassmen; this is their chance for a state championship and they’re not going to let me, or some Hispanic guy, screw that up for them. Besides, who are we going to tell? We’re getting too old to run to Daddy every time something’s not going our way.”
The boys left the building and saw Lucy waiting for them in their mother’s high-end truck. She was parked behind a beat-up economy car with threadbare tires and rust spots on the panels. As they approached, the passenger-side door of the beat-up car opened and Esteban got out and walked toward them.
“Great, now what?” Zak growled.
“Hey, Esteban, what’s up?” Giancarlo said.
Esteban smiled at Giancarlo but held out his hand to Zak. “I wish to thank you,” he said in heavily accented English.
Zak frowned. That’s when he noticed another car in the lot containing Max Weller, Chase Fitzgerald, and Chet Anders. “I didn’t do anything,” he said without offering his hand in return, and walked on to where Lucy was waiting.
Esteban looked hurt and puzzled as he turned to Giancarlo. “I say something bad?”
Giancarlo shook his head. “Nah. He’s just upset ’cause the coach got mad at him,” he explained.
Esteban looked over to where Zak was crawling into the jump seat of the truck. He bit his lip and nodded. “I understand this,” he said, and put his hand out to Giancarlo, who shook it. “Please to tell him gracias again for me when time is right, eh?”
“I will,” Giancarlo said. “See you tomorrow.”
The two boys split up and walked to their respective rides, both conscious that their teammates in the other car were watching. Giancarlo was surprised that Zak was in the back of the truck; usually he called shotgun and couldn’t be budged.
“Well, hello to you, too,” Lucy said as Giancarlo got in the front passenger seat and buckled his seat belt without speaking. “Don’t tell me both of you are in foul moods. Grumpy the Dwarf hasn’t said a word since he got in.”
“Sorry, Luce, I’m fine,” Giancarlo said, despite being able to see the boys in the other car mouthing words he couldn’t hear but whose intent he understood. “Zak’s just upset because the coach got on his case.”
Lucy frowned. “Is everything all right?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” Zak snarled.
“Not a problem,” Lucy replied. “Maybe something tasty at Moishe’s will put you in a better mood.”
“What?” Zak asked.
“Did you forget? I’m supposed to take you to see Moishe for your report. Mom and Dad are both working late.”
Both boys groaned. But their complaints ended the moment they walked into Il Buon Pane. They chose cherry cheese coffee cake and disappeared chattering happily to the upstairs apartments with Moishe.
When they were gone, Goldie motioned for Lucy to have a seat at one of the tables. I will lock up and we’ll have something to eat and drink, she signed.
Lucy shook her head. Thank you, but I really should be going, she signed back. The twins have cab fare and -
There is something so important that you cannot spare a few minutes for an old woman? Goldie signed, and smiled, her blue eyes twinkling.
Lucy laughed. Well, since you put it that way… but it will cost you another piece of that cherry cheese coffee cake.
Good, good, a small price to pay for such lovely company, Goldie replied. She finished locking up and then scurried behind the counter, reappearing with two pieces of the coffee cake, which she set down on the table before sitting herself.
So…, the old woman signed, when is the wedding?
Lucy almost choked on her coffee cake at the unexpected, and unwelcome, question. It was a topic she’d been avoiding even with her mother. She didn’t want to talk-even in sign language-about it now. However, Goldie was looking at her as if she’d asked about the weather.
“I just don’t think the timing is good for getting married right now,” Lucy said, picking her cup of tea up and taking a sip, hoping the discussion was over.
It wasn’t. Goldie put her cup down and sat still for a moment, but then her hands began to fly. I want to tell you a short story, she said, about when Moishe and I met. As you know, we were both survivors of concentration camps, and I met him shortly after the war in a refugee camp. I could tell he liked me-he kept hanging around, making eyes, and trying to speak to me, though I would only sign for him to keep his distance.
Goldie sighed. I was the least likely love interest imaginable. Not after what the Nazi doctors did to me in the camp when I was a young girl. It is the reason I could not have children, though I did not know it until much later. I did know that I did not want a man to touch me again… not ever.
Taking another sip of tea, Goldie spent a moment gazing into the cup as though she could see distant memories. Then her hands continued with her story of the young man who refused to go away but stayed close and vigilant. At first she had seen him like any other man-after one thing only-but as she watched him she thought there was both an innocence and a sad, quiet strength to him that said he was different from the others. She hated to admit it to herself, but she felt safer when he was nearby.
Moishe would try to talk to me even though he knew that if I deigned to speak to him with my hands, he wouldn’t understand. I should tell you that back then my hands spoke a combination of sign languages I had picked up in the concentration camp, as well as my own additions. But he kept trying… that young man would not give up.
Goldie smiled. Finally one day he walked up and handed me a note. I dropped it to the ground and signed for him to leave me alone. He walked off and as soon as he did, I picked up the note and read it. It said, “I’ve decided that I love you and that I want to marry you. We will go to America and surround ourselves with children and grandchildren.”