CHAPTER 5
Corin sat hunched over his desk doing a bill-juggling act and trying to ignore the article on the front page of the New England Journal of Medicine that kept screaming at him. He glanced at it for the eighty-ninth time that day, and for the eighty-ninth time felt a bowling ball take up residence in his gut.
New Surgery Working in High Percentage of Spinal-Cord Injury Cases.
It was wonderful news as long as you had three hundred thousand dollars fluttering down your chimney into your Christmas stocking.
But the insurance Grinch had stolen the stockings, and the only green flowing into Corin’s life these days was his penchant for herbal green tea.
A moment later the bell on his front door announced the arrival of a shopper, thankfully interrupting the melancholy mood he’d let himself slip into. Corin stood and shook his arms. Must wake up and be charming. Smiles, everyone, smiles.
He walked out of his office in time to see a woman and a boy holding hands clump down the two steps inside his front door onto the main showroom floor. It was obvious the woman wanted to keep holding hands; the boy didn’t. He tugged on her dilapidated purse with his other hand.
“Can I let go? I won’t run, Mom, okay?”
She looked mid-thirties, reddish brown hair, jeans, and a faded T-shirt with a photo of three boys ironed onto it that said, “Sane Women Stop at Two.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yes!” The boy bounced on his toes as he pulled on his mom’s hand.
The woman released him and the boy stared up at her as if to show her he meant to keep his word. His blond hair was cut short and his brown eyes were full of energy.
“Hi, I’m Corin, welcome to Artifications. Have you been here before?”
“No, this is our first time.”
“Can I answer any questions?”
The woman motioned toward the boy who wandered toward the back of the store. “He can’t run because of his asthma.” She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Not that he should be running in a store anyway, but there’s something about the aisles of a store that make him want to race up and down them.” A wave of sadness swept over her face and in that instant she looked fifty.
“I remember loving to do that as a kid.”
“Me too.” The woman shrugged and sighed.
“That has to be tough.”
She gave a glum smile. “It’s especially hard on him because his two older brothers are both basketball players and he’d love to be one too. He wants to follow in their sneakers, but with his asthma there’s just no way.” She sighed again and brushed back her hair. “He can’t even play baseball, which is his favorite sport. So when there are game days or basketball practice like this afternoon, my husband goes with the two older ones and we look for places to go while his brothers play.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Us too. It’s all he’s wanted to do since he was little.”
“What’s his name?”
“Brittan. I’m Tracie.”
“Nice to meet you.” Corin stepped toward the small refrigerator next to his sales counter. “Would you like a bottled water?”
“No thanks.”
He watched Brittan’s head swivel from left to right as he strolled down aisle two gazing at the antiques. “How old?”
“I’m not sure you should be asking how old I am.”
Corin smiled. “I meant . . .”
Tracie burst out laughing. “I know, I’m just being silly. He’ll be seven in two months.”
A joyful shriek came from the back of the store. “Hey, Mom! Look!”
They turned as Brittan streaked down the aisle with a Boston Red Sox game program from the 1950s wrapped up in thick plastic. “Look at this! Can we get it?”
“You can’t run like that, Brittan!”
Seconds later the boy reached the end of the aisle and stumbled to his knees in front of them, wheezing in and out like a plugged-up vacuum cleaner. A moment later he crashed onto his side and gasped for air.
Corin staggered back and sucked in two quick breaths.
Out of air.
He was fine.
The kid is out of air.
Plenty of air to breathe all around him.
Relax.
Corin laced his fingers and squeezed but his hands still shook.
“Brittan!” His mom skittered over to him, fell to her knees, and jammed her hand into her purse. “Where is it?” She turned to Brittan. “Do you have your inhaler?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She continued to rummage through her purse obviously looking for one.
“Mom,” Brittan wheezed, “I’m okay.” The boy took an inhaler out of his pocket, placed it in his mouth, pumped it three times, then fell forward on his hands and continued his labored breathing.
His mom pulled him up and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “Relax, you’re going to be okay. Deep breaths if you can. Relax, Brittan.” She turned to Corin. “I’m sorry about this.”
Corin slowed his breathing and blinked. “What?”
“I’m sorry this happened in your store.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”
But he wasn’t fine. The anxiety waterfall rarely buried him except right after having the dream. He wasn’t used to having it attack in public. He ran his hands over the top of his head and forced out a smile. “What can I do?”
She glanced around the room. “Can he sit someplace?”
“Sure, of course.” Corin buried his fear and knelt next to the woman. “Does he need a soft—?”
“Anywhere is fine.”
The closest piece was the chair the elderly lady had brought on Tuesday and Corin motioned toward it. “Let’s sit him right here.”
They settled him into the chair and Corin stood and took a step back. A moment later Brittan’s breathing returned to normal and the boy smiled. “I feel good. I feel warm inside.”
“You scare me when you do that, Brittan.”
“I’m sorry for running, Mom. But look.” Brittan coughed once and held up the program from an era when baseball players were true heroes, and if they did anything unheroic in their private lives it never made the papers.
“That’s a good-looking program.”
Brittan beamed, then looked at Corin.
“Do you like Ted Williams, mister?”
Corin stepped forward and knelt on one knee. “I do. I guess you do as well.”
“Are you kidding? He’s the last major leaguer to have a lifetime batting average over .400. He’s a legend!”
“I’m impressed. A lot of kids your age wouldn’t have any idea who he is.”
Brittan smiled again, a big innocent smile only kids could deliver. “I know about Lou Gehrig and Joe DiMaggio and Roger Maris and Willie Mays is my favorite . . . and I’m only six years old. Almost seven.”
Corin laughed. “How many home runs did Maris hit to set the record?”
“Sixty-one.”
“And in how many games in a row did DiMaggio get a hit, something that no one has broken for over seventy years?”
“Fifty-six!”
“And how many teams did The Say Hey Kid play for during his major league career?”
“Mr. Willie Mays played for the New York Giants and the San Francisco Giants and the New York Mets.”
“Folks, this kid is unstoppable.” Corin glanced at Brittan’s mom, who was all smiles.
“Okay, here’s the bonus question for all the money and title of Grand Champion Baseball Trivia Quiz Master of the Entire Universe.” Corin started a drumroll on the edge of the chair. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Really ready?”
“Yeah!” Brittan clutched the seat of the chair and leaned forward.
“Here we go.” Corin stopped drumming and spoke in his best announcer voice. “Who holds the all-time home-run record in the major leagues?”
“I’ve got this one easy.” Brittan smiled and wagged his finger at Corin. “Hank Aaron.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. I don’t care how many home runs Barry Bonds hit, Mr. Aaron did it without putting funny stuff into his body to make it easier.”
Corin shook his head and laughed. “You have an amazing kid there.”
“Can we get it, Mom?” The boy held up the game program.
“Do Mommy a favor, Brittan, and rest for a minute, okay?”
“I don’t need to; I feel really good.”
“Brittan.”
“Okay, Mom.”
She rubbed her face. “I don’t know what we’d do without that inhaler. It seems like we’re always using it. Brittan can’t keep from running when he gets excited and I can’t blame him, you know? What boy doesn’t want to run?”
Corin balled his hand into a fist and mock punched Brittan’s forehead. “Glad you’re feeling better.”
“Me too, but I wish this would go away. I hate asthma.”
“Did you know that almost everybody has stuff in their life they don’t like dealing with? And stuff they’re scared of?”
Brittan whipped his head up and stared at Corin. “Do you?”
“Sure.”
“What?”
“I don’t have asthma, but guess what I have to deal with?”
“What?”
Corin put his hands together like he was holding a ball and brought them up next to his face. “I don’t like tight spaces.”
“You have claustrophobia?”
“Wow, you know that word?”
“I’m almost seven. I know lots of big words.”
“I’m impressed. Most kids twice your age wouldn’t know what that word means.”
“Are you afraid of anything else?”
“I’m not too fond of water.”
“Really? Why not?”
Corin grimaced. “That’s a long story we probably don’t have time for today.”
“Okay.” Brittan leaned against the back of the chair so his feet stuck out and he closed his eyes. “I feel a little sleepy.” A peaceful look settled on his face.
“Even though I’ve been through it hundreds of times, it still scares me when an asthma attack hits.” Tracie leaned over and brushed Brittan’s head. “I think this is the fastest he’s ever recovered.”
“He’ll be okay now?”
“Fine. Until the next time he runs.” She smiled her sad smile again, then spun to her right and looked down aisle two. “Now, I’d love to see if you have any other baseball treasures from the 1950s and 60s.”
“I might have a few things.” Corin motioned with his hand down the aisle. “After you.”
Ten minutes later they returned to Brittan with a LIFE magazine with Ted Williams on the cover and a signed Joe DiMaggio auto card.
Brittan’s eyes were still closed and his breathing was deep and rhythmic.
“I think he might have fallen asleep.”
“Brittan?”
The boy’s eyes fluttered open and widened as he stared at the magazine. “Wow, where did you get that?”
“I don’t have a lot of baseball things, but this is definitely a classic. It’s the issue from September 1941 and even has pictures inside of Ted’s famous swing.” Corin opened the magazine and held it out for the boy. “Take a look.”
“Is that his signature?” The boy glanced back and forth between Corin and his mom.
“The genuine article.”
“What’s an our tickle?”
Corin laughed again. “You’re a great kid, Brittan.”
“Thanks, I think you’re a great mister.”
Tracie said, “Thanks for your kindness toward Brittan. Most people don’t know what to say when he has one of his attacks.”
“My pleasure. I hope he grows out of it someday.”
“Me too.”
Tracie turned back to Brittan and gazed at her son. So did Corin. Innocent, full of wonder and anticipation. How did you protect a kid like Brittan, or any kid, from the ravages life would pitch at them?
“He looks good in that chair and it’s beautiful. I don’t see a price tag on it. Is it for sale?”
“It should be soon. I think.” He hadn’t decided whether he would sell it or not. But he needed the cash. The elderly lady’s statement floated back to him about the chair being for him, but he batted the thought away. “I just got the piece in and need to determine how much it’s worth.”
“Well, I doubt we’d be able to afford it, but we can at least dream, right? It would look good in Brittan’s room. When do you think you’ll be ready to put the chair up for sale?”
“It should be ready for purchase in two or three days at the most.”
“There’s something special about it, don’t you think?” She ran her fingers down the back of the chair.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Tracie gathered up the baseball antiques, walked over to Corin’s sales counter, and set them down.
Corin glanced at Brittan, then strolled behind his sales counter and rang up the items. “Four hundred thirty-seven dollars and eighty-two cents.”
“Oh yes.” Tracie’s face flushed and she stared at her purse. “I should have asked. We can’t—”
Brittan’s face pinched together but he didn’t say anything.
“Wait, I forgot to tell you about our discount.” Corin smiled. “You didn’t realize this, but anyone who becomes Grand Champion Baseball Trivia Quiz Master of the Entire Universe gets a 70 percent discount on anything in the store.”
“What?” Brittan said from across the room. “So I helped with my mom’s finances?”
“You did, champ. Nice work.”
“No.” Tracie looked up and whispered, “You don’t have to do that. I know these things are valuable and you’re in business to make money.” She fumbled in her purse, her fingers bumping against what looked like a VISA card. “They have to be—”
“Seventy percent off.” Corin motioned toward his office. “I can show you the official company policy if you like.”
“I . . . we . . . I’m not sure what to say. Thank you.”
“You and Brittan are entirely welcome.” Corin placed the items into a large plastic bag and handed them to Tracie. “Just make sure you keep loving on Brittan his whole life.”
Tracie closed her eyes and smiled. “Thank you again. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“Are we going now?” Brittan slid out of the chair and skipped toward his mom.
“Brittan!”
“Sorry, going fast is my favorite thing.”
“Can you say thank you to Mr. . . . ?”
“Roscoe.”
“Thanks, Mr. Roscoe. Maybe I can come back sometime and we can talk more baseball together.”
“I’d like that, Brittan. And if it’s okay with your mom, you can call me Mr. Corin.”
Brittan glanced at his mom and she nodded. “See you soon, Mr. Corin.”
Corin gave him a two-finger salute as Brittan and his mom eased out the front door. If God was still alive in the twenty-first century, Brittan would get Corin’s vote for being healed.