I’d completely forgotten that Sosa ever played in Gastonia, but I nodded my head at Roc like I remembered it well.
“Good thing Sammy got out of here when he did,” he said. “He’s got old teammates snatching up they kids, and him out there chasing Maris with Big Mac.” He shook his head like it was the most profound thing he’d ever thought, much less said.
“Do me a favor,” I said. “Let me know if you hear anything about Wade Chesterfield.”
“Some birdies sing for they supper,” he said, rubbing his fingers together and smiling.
“We can do it that way,” I said. “But only if there’s any songs worth listening to.”
He smiled and took a drag off his cigar. “You want to put something on Sammy getting number fifty-seven against the Pirates Friday night?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “No use pressing my bad luck.”
“All right,” he said. We shook hands and I faked my way through a long, awkward handshake that ended with us bumping fists. “Holler at your boy if you change your mind.”
“You bet,” I said, not catching my own pun. Roc laughed.
I turned and walked back to my car while listening to him slowly dragging that empty trash can across the lot back toward the restaurant. When I reached the car, I turned around and saw him looking at me from the open kitchen door like he’d been waiting on me to change my mind.
“What are the odds against Sosa homering Friday night and Saturday night?” I asked.
Roc smiled. “You serious?”
“I am.”
“Hold up,” he said. He fished a small notebook from his back pocket and flipped through it; he found what he was searching for and looked back up at me. “They’re bad,” he said. “Real bad. But I can make it sweet for you. Want to say twenty to one? That’s pretty sweet.”
“That is pretty sweet,” I said, even though I knew I should’ve been back inside my car and pulling out of the parking lot by now. “Put me down for a hundred,” I said.
“That’s it?” he said. “Come on, playa.”
“That’s it,” I said. “And let me know if you hear anything about anything.”
He nodded his head, flicked the tip of his cigar, and opened the kitchen door. Rap music blared from inside. The door slammed shut and swallowed the music. The only noise was the sound of me jingling the keys in my empty pocket.
CHAPTER 19
The first Thursday night of the month was my one night with Jessica. Whenever I picked her up from her mother and stepfather’s house, I always pulled into the circular driveway in front of the white-brick mansion and gave the horn a quick “I’m here” beep. I’d only been inside the house once, years ago, when it had been raining and I’d carried an umbrella up the steps and knocked on the front door. Dean had answered. I’d only stood inside the front door and waited for Jessica to come down, but from what I could see, the house’s interior matched its exterior. The foyer was floored in white marble, and a wide, wooden staircase curved up to the second floor. Over Dean’s shoulder was what must’ve been the kitchen, and beyond that a living room. Darkened rooms sat on either side of us, and all I remember is seeing more marble floors and white pillars and thinking that Tina was hidden away somewhere that I couldn’t see, counting her blessings that she was married to Dean and not to me.
Tonight, Jessica was already waiting outside when I pulled up. She looked taller, older, and thinner every time I saw her. She had her mother’s soft face and my blond hair, and she wore it long and wavy like a girl who might be showing off her hair in a shampoo commercial. I put the car in park, left it running, and opened my door to step out and give her a hug, but she’d already opened the passenger’s-side door and climbed in before I could even get both feet out. I closed my door and looked over at her just as she clicked her seat belt.
“Hey,” I said, leaning over to give her an awkward hug, noting that she only put one arm around my neck.
“Hey,” she said. She smiled, and then she turned around and tossed her purse into the backseat.
Chili’s was crowded and noisy as usual, and Jessica and I stood outside, waiting for a table. It wouldn’t be dark for another half hour, and the night was humid even though there was something in the air that said it was more fall than summer.
“I drove past the school yesterday,” I said. “It looks like they’re hosting a college fair Saturday night. You going?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I think Mom’s taking me.”
“Oh,” I said. “Good. Because I was going to say I could take you if you wanted the company, but if she’s already going, then good.”
It was quiet for a second, and I looked around at all the other people and families who were talking and laughing, and I wondered what they could be talking about with their kids.
“I’m still leaning toward Peace,” Jessica finally said. “They have a good English major, and the classes are small. I know you’re not wild about it, but it’s where I want to go.”
“It’s not that I’m not wild about it,” I said. “I’m sure it’s a great school. It’s just really expensive. But NC State, UNC-Charlotte-shoot, my tax dollars are already going there, right?”
“Yeah, Dad,” she said. “You’ve said that before. You don’t have to worry about it; Mom and Dean are paying for school.”
“And you’ve said that before, and I’ve told you that I’m going to help,” I said. “It’s my job. I’m still your dad. I just want you to consider all of your options. That’s all.”
“Sure,” she said.
The pager the hostess had given me vibrated in my hand, and Jessica heard it and looked down and saw that it was glowing. She turned and walked inside, and I followed.
Once we were seated a waitress came by and dropped off some menus, and a few minutes later she returned with our drinks. I studied my menu even though I already knew what both of us would order: the black-and-blue burger for me and the Cajun chicken pasta for Jessica.
I looked up and saw that the waitress was standing at our table, pen and pad in hand. “Are y’all ready?” she asked. I looked at Jessica, and she nodded.
“I think so,” I said. “I’m going to have the black-and-blue burger, medium please, and she’ll have the-”
“Grilled chicken salad with just oil and vinegar,” Jessica said. “No croutons, please.”
“Are y’all good with water?” the waitress asked.
“I am,” Jessica said.
“Me too,” I said. The waitress smiled and walked toward the table behind me. I heard her ask them the same questions she’d just asked us.
“Grilled chicken salad?” I said. “That’s new.”
“I’m trying to eat better,” Jessica said. “Trying to be healthier.”
“Is that going to be enough?” I asked. “You want to get an appetizer or something?”
“No,” she said. “I’m not very hungry.”
The waitress brought our food a few minutes later, and while we ate I tried to think of things to ask Jessica about school or college or about other things she was interested in. “English major,” I said. “So, what’s your favorite book?”
She’d stabbed a piece of grilled chicken with her fork, and she held it in midair and stared at it like she was thinking long and hard about my question. “I don’t know,” she said. “I have a lot of favorites: The Catcher in the Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“What’s The Catcher in the Rye about?”
She popped the chicken into her mouth and sat her fork down while she chewed. Then she took a sip of water. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s hard to explain. It’s not really about anything. The narrator is this kid who’s going home from boarding school for Christmas break, and he just kind of tells the reader about it.”