They usually show movies on a flight like that.
— Announcer Ken Coleman,
calling a long home run
“Well, here we are,” Keely said, settling into her seat in the private super box Mort had wrangled for them at Shea Stadium. It was Friday night, and the first of the last weekend of games in the regular season. The Phillies were two full games behind the Mets, with three games to go.
“Yes,” Suzanna answered nervously, “here we are. Thanks for coming with me.”
“You’re welcome, although Jack can’t quite understand why I didn’t go to Yankee Stadium with him. Big deal, they clinched their division weeks ago. Although I can’t believe I’m going to be rooting against my very own Mets.”
Suzanna looked at her new friend, her dear friend. “Jack says you can’t name a single player on the Mets team.”
“Can so,” Keely answered, lifting her chin. “I just won’t give him the satisfaction, that’s all.”
Suzanna laughed, shaking her head. “You’re a nut; you do know that, right?”
“Oh, absolutely. Jack’s still a little torqued that I didn’t recognize him as the great Jack Trehan when we met. And then, when I did find out, I told him I’m a big Mets fan. Mets fans are never Yankee fans, Suzanna. It drove Jack nuts. You have to keep them in line a little, Suzanna, keep them guessing. Although I now can name every player on the Yankees, and if Tim’s Phillies end up playing them in the Series, I’ll be rooting for the Yanks. I hope you don’t mind.”
“With Jack as a former Yankee, and now their color commentator? How could you do anything else?”
“Oh, look, Suzanna, some little kids are going to sing the Anthem. Aren’t they cute? Isn’t that sweet?”
Suzanna stood and watched as Tim joined his team at the edge of the dugout for the playing of the National Anthem, then took his place on the bench.
“He doesn’t look sick,” Keely said, turning a pair of binoculars on her brother-in-law. “Maybe Mort just said that, so you’d show up.”
Mort’s voice came from behind them. “What? Me—lie? I never lie.”
Keely gave Suzanna a quick poke in the ribs. “Did you hear that? More and More Moore, super agent, never lies. Duck, Suzanna, I think there might be a lightning bolt heading in this direction.”
“Very funny,” Mort said, making his way down the steps inside the super box, planting kisses on their cheeks. “Suzanna, you can’t tell Tim that I talked to you about anything other than offering you this super box for the weekend. I think he thinks I’m like a priest in the confessional, or something like that. What we talk about is sort of sacrosanct.”
“Okay, that’s it, definitely a lightning strike,” Keely said, pushing herself to her feet. “And I’ve got to go visit the little girl’s room again. Remind me not to drink too much, Suzanna, or the limo will be making pit stops every ten minutes on our way home.”
Suzanna watched Keely go and wondered, not for the first time, if she would be as laid back about her own pregnancy when she got to the elephant stage. She doubted it.
“Sit down, Mort, and tell me how he is tonight.”
“He’s good, good. I saw him this morning. I gave him the books he asked me to buy for him, told him he’s not being all that peculiar. Did it with a straight face, too, just the way I didn’t act surprised when he told me you’re pregnant, seeing as how Sadie told me all about it the day of the birthday party. I didn’t let on that I knew, or that he isn’t supposed to know—none of that. I’d say I’m up for sainthood, but then that lightning Keely talked about would be sure to strike.”
“I still wish he didn’t know,” Suzanna said, feeling tears gathering behind her eyes. They kept doing that. Gathering, waiting, ready to spill over. She was turning into a damn sprinkling can. “I didn’t want him to know.”
“Yeah, Sadie explained all of that. But since he doesn’t know that you know he knows, it’s okay, right? Although I have to tell you, sweetheart, I think you’re both nuts.”
“I can’t explain it, Mort, but I have to do what I’m doing. If I give in now, the way I’ve always given in, we’ll never be happy.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Except now he knows I’m pregnant, so how am I ever going to know if he really loves me?”
“He’s throwing up every morning; that should give you some clue,” Mort said, pulling out a cigar, then looking at Suzanna, replacing it in his shirt pocket.
“And he can’t play for sh—Sorry. He isn’t playing well; that’s what I meant to say.”
“But he knows I’m here tonight?”
Mort nodded. “That should make a difference, don’t you think? Even if I told him you’re going home with Jack and Keely, and that you don’t want to see him.”
“I’m coming back tomorrow night, too,” Suzanna said, twisting the tissue in her hands. “Aunt Sadie’s coming with me. And then it’s Mrs. B.’s turn, on Sunday.”
“Last regular game of the season. Two out of three aren’t enough. We have to sweep and win it all outright. I hate going down to the wire like this. Ages me, I swear it.”
“Poor Mort,” Suzanna said, smiling, but she was also nervous. “He’ll be fine. He’s been better lately, and had good games against Atlanta.”
“He’s a professional. He has to be able to push everything else away and concentrate on the game. I had a pretty hefty Come to Jesus moment with him about that the day he called me, and he’s sucking it up, concentrating on the team. Tim was always a real team player.”
“I know, and I shouldn’t be making it hard on him, not right now. My timing has never been really good.”
“Are you kidding? Your timing was great, showing up in Pittsburgh like that in July. He was going down, Suzanna, straight down. Look at the August he had—fantastic. All we need now is to clinch the division, and I defy management to tell me they won’t meet our price.”
Suzanna sat back in her seat and looked at the agent. “That isn’t why Tim plays, Mort. You do know that, don’t you? He’d play for free, just so he could play.”
“Oh, boy, do I know that. Tim and Jack both. Why do you think they need me?”
“Aunt Sadie says you’ve been great. Especially after Mr. and Mrs. Trehan died. Like a loving uncle, or something.”
“They were good people, Suzanna, and they raised good sons. Okay,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “Here we go. I brought you a program, in case you want to keep score again. Kolecki just singled.”
“Thank you, Mort,” Suzanna said, feeling those darn tears threatening again. “Just remember, Mort. This is just between the two of us. Jack and Keely and everybody know Tim wasn’t feeling well, but they don’t know why. I couldn’t do that to Tim.”
“You love him a lot, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Yes, I do. That’s why this is so hard.”
It would be easy, so very easy, to just give in, let what would happen just happen.
But then she’d never know, would she? Did Tim love her? Or did he need the “luck” she brought him? Did he think babies were neat in general, or that a baby they had together would be special?
Aunt Sadie and Mrs. B. said Tim was coming along, but he still had some growing up to do.
Maybe, Suzanna thought, pressing a hand against her belly, she did, too...
* * *
She was here, in the stadium. Mort wouldn’t tell him where, or what he’d said to get her here; but she was here, and Mort had relented enough to tell him that Jack would be picking her up outside the players’ entrance after the game.
It wasn’t all he wanted, but it was a start.
She knew what the game meant to him, what it had always meant to him. She’d been with him from the start. Playing on the same team in rubber ball when the coaches had to remind them where first base was, then keeping the stats on every other team he’d ever played on. Good old Suze.
He didn’t want good old Suze. He wanted Suzanna. His Suzanna.
But, for now, he’d take what he could get.
He stepped to the plate, smiled, because the Mets thought so little of his hitting anymore that they didn’t care if he batted leftie.
Didn’t they know that was the best way to get his juices up? Suzanna knew.
He looked up at the stands, toward the luxury boxes, and waved, then pointed to right center field. Shared a moment, shared their private joke on the Mets.
Lowering the bat, he drew an imaginary line across the plate. He took two quick swings, then coiled the bat, stared at the pitcher, sure his nod to the catcher meant he’d just agreed to a low fast one, outside.
You think I can’t hit that one? Come on, wise guy, try it. Just try it.
He waved at the super boxes again as he rounded the bases and headed home behind Jeff Kolecki, his tape measure home run making it two to nothing in the top of the first.
He got to the dugout, where he shared high fives with his teammates, then raced into the clubhouse and threw up a whopping helping of ziti in marinara sauce.
* * *
Suzanna had planned, hoped, to be gone before Tim could track her down; but Jack’s game had run late, and they were still waiting for the limousine to pick them up when Tim came outside and spotted them.
“Good game, Tim,” she told him with an overly bright smile, then turned her head so that his kiss landed on her cheek. “One down, and two to go.”
“They’re already selling playoff tickets at home,” Mort told him, clapping him on the back. “And, best of all, I’ve got a meeting in Philly next Wednesday with the money man.”
“Uh-huh,” Tim said, obviously not paying attention to Mort, as he kept staring at Suzanna. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” she said, then frowned, hopefully a perplexed frown. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Hey, I’m just glad you’re here. You, too, Keel.”
“I wondered when you’d see me. I didn’t think I was invisible,” Keely said, putting both hands on her huge belly. “But you never know.”
Suzanna tried not to look directly at Tim. He looked so good, if a little thin. Sure. I get fat and he gets thin. Women are cursed.
“Suze?”
“Hmmm?”
“I was thinking. Maybe, instead of driving all the way back to Whitehall, you could, you know, stay here with me?”
She shook her head. “I can’t, Tim.”
“You mean you don’t want to,” he said, his voice becoming slightly sharp.
“No, I mean I can’t. Didn’t you know that Sam sent out telegrams to all the wives? No cohabitation until this series is over. He said that cohabitation would sap your strength. Except he said it a little differently. It was probably all the stops in the telegram that made it seem a little, well, tacky.”
“Cripes!” Tim shoved a hand through his hair, which still bore the indentation from his cap. “What does the man think? That we’re all going to have orgies, or something?”
Suzanna felt her cheeks growing hot. “Tim,” she warned quietly, wishing Keely would stop giggling.
“No,” he said, avoiding the hand she tried to place on his arm. “No, it’s dumb, stupid. We’re grown men, for crying out loud. Curfews on the road, the team bus, the damn meditation crap he pulled with us tonight. And now this? Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
Suzanna watched as Tim, looking so damn sexy in his black pullover and khakis, slammed back through the door, leaving the three of them standing there.
“Mood swing,” Mort whispered quietly, so that Keely wouldn’t hear. “I read a few chapters before I handed over the books. Typical mood swing.”
“Oh, here we go,” Keely said, pointing to the long black limousine that had pulled into the restricted parking area. “And here’s my hero. How did it go, darling?” she asked as Jack stepped out of the limo and took Keely in his arms.
“We lost,” he said. “I don’t think the guys can get themselves up for the games, knowing we’ve already clinched. But that’s not good. Streaks are streaks, winning or losing. They’ll be better tomorrow. But you’re not coming in, right, Keel? I think you’re done with trips to New York until after the baby’s born.”
“Yes, master,” Keely said, rolling her eyes at Suzanna. “See? They get all bossy when they think they can. Jack already knows this is my last trip to New York, because I told him so. He’s just trying to look like macho-daddy.”
“I think he’s sweet,” Suzanna said, those ready tears stinging her eyes once more.
“And I think I’m out of here,” Mort said, kissing both women. “Sadie said when I couldn’t remember who knows what and who I lied to last, it was time to get back behind my desk. See you tomorrow night, Suzanna?”
“Sure, Mort,” she told him. “I’ll be here, promise.”
“What was all that about?” Keely asked, watching Mort walk away. “There’s only one lie, that we don’t know you’re pregnant. And that’s not even a lie, not really. I mean, if Tim asked, and we said no, then that would be a lie. This is just a secret, right?”
“Right,” Suzanna said sincerely. One secret. Plus the one that Mort had told her about Tim. That Tim knew she was pregnant, and that he was throwing up every morning. Keely and Jack, and all the rest of them, couldn’t know that. Of course, since Mort knew, it was always possible that Aunt Sadie also knew, although she probably wouldn’t tell anyone else. Except maybe Mrs. B. But not Jack and Keely. And she wasn’t going to confide in Keely, not this time.
It was getting difficult to remember who knew what or, as Tim might say it, how to tell the players without a scorecard.
Suzanna smiled, thankful to see Tim heading toward them once more. “Look at that face. I don’t think he won this one,” she said to Jack.
“I have to go back to the hotel on the team bus,” Tim said, his eyes still sparking blue fire. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t sneak into the hotel, get a room. Dusty wouldn’t tell on me.”
“Dusty?” Suzanna shook her head. “Would that be the same Dusty who told me about the one-in-three odds? That Dusty?”
“Never mind,” Tim said, then muttered something under his breath. “Okay, okay. So I’ve got to stay with the team this weekend. But after we take this series—”
“Ah, there’s the Tim we all know and love. Not a doubt in his mind.”
“Shut up, Jack. Like I was saying, after we win this series, we’ll have a free day before the divisional playoffs begin, but we’ll need that for travel. That means another trip out of town for a five-game series we’ll win in three. Your turn, bro.”
“Me? I’m not going to say a word, Tim. You think you can win six in a row—with Phillies pitching? Hey, go for it.”
“Thank you. Now, after we take the division, we go best of seven for the pennant. That’s another week, more if we get rained out. Then four more to beat your Yanks, Jack—maybe six, if you’re lucky—and then, by damn, I’m coming home.”
Suzanna mentally added up the days, for games, for travel, possible rain outs. “But... But that means it could be well into the middle of October before you’re home.”
Tim put his hands on her upper arms. “I’ll call every day, Suze, promise. And you still can come to the games, stay with the other wives who travel with the team. I really wish you’d do that, Suze.”
“But... But Margo’s going to have her kittens. I mean, Aunt Sadie isn’t sure of the day, but we’re pretty sure it will be within the next week or two. I can’t leave her.”
Tim backed up two steps. “You’re kidding, right? I’m going to be playing for a chance at the World Series, and you’re going to stay home and watch a cat?”
Suzanna tipped up her chin. “Yes, Tim, I’m going to stay home and watch a cat. You have a problem with that?”
He did, obviously. Oh, boy, did he ever.
But, instead of exploding, he surprised her by taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly, then saying, “Okay. Okay, Suze. Just come back tomorrow, and Sunday. After that, we’ll play it by ear.”
“And you’re not angry?”
“Me? No, I’m not angry. It’s all my fault anyway; everybody knows that. I should have had Lucky... snipped.”
“Sam’s waving at you from the bus, Tim,” Jack said, with an inclination of his head. “I think you have to go. So do we. Time I got little mother here tucked up in bed.”
“Ah, so thoughtful. And my feet hurt, Jack. Maybe you could carry me over to the limo?”
“How about I go find a wheelbarrow, sweetheart,” Jack shot back at her, and Keely laughed as she took his hand, dragged him to the limousine.
“That’s another thing, Tim,” Suzanna said once Jack and Keely were in the backseat of the limo. “Keely’s due October twenty-eighth. But Dr. Phillips... I mean, but her obstetrician told her she’s showing signs that she may be earlier than that. If the Yankees make the Series, Jack has to be there for the radio broadcasts, so someone will have to stay with Keely.”
“Aunt Sadie will be there, and Mrs. B.”
“Mrs. B. is going to Tampa, to visit her sister. She leaves Tuesday and won’t be back for at least two weeks, remember? Then, when she gets back, there’s rehearsals every night.”
“I forgot,” Tim said, edging closer to her again, looking like he might want to kiss her. “Still, there’s Aunt Sadie, right?”
“Tim,” Suzanna said, sighing. “How do you want Keely to get to the hospital? In Aunt Sadie’s little red sports car, or after trying to climb into that four-by-four with the Tweety Bird on the hood? And, before you answer, remember that I’ve driven with the woman. She’s got a lead foot and thinks Stop signs really only mean pause.”
Tim was silent for a few moments, a silence broken only by Sam Kizer’s bellow of “Get your ass on board, Trehan!”
Then he said, “This is a conspiracy, isn’t it? I’ve got this whole pack of women conspiring against me. Cripes, Suzanna, when will you think I’ve suffered enough?”
“This isn’t about suffering, Tim. I’m not a vindictive woman. This is about learning what you want, and why you want it.”
“I know why I want you, Suze,” he said sincerely.
“Yeah. You won tonight. I know. And I’ll be here tomorrow night, and again on Sunday. I promised Mort, who said I owed it to the team, even if I didn’t owe it to you. But after that, Tim, you’re on your own. I’m not expecting you to give up the pasta, or the bubble gum, or any of the rest of it. I just want you to decide if you want me because I seem to have stopped the curse from getting you, or because you want me.”
“I just said that I—”
“Tim, your bus is waiting. Jack and Keely are waiting, and if she has to wait much longer, she’ll want to go back inside and visit the ladies’ room again, and we’ll never get out of here, and I’m exhausted. So go. Please go.”
He went.
She glared after him. He’d just shut his mouth, and he’d gone, without looking back.
Suzanna glared daggers after him. Since when had he become so damn amenable?
* * *
Tim sat in the last row of the chartered plane, scribbling on a notepad.
Jack knew Suzanna was pregnant, because Keely had told him, and Jack had told his brother.
Keely knew Suzanna was pregnant, because Suzanna had told her, and then Keely had told him.
Aunt Sadie and Mrs. B. knew Suzanna was pregnant, because either someone told them or they read it in the vegetables swirling around in their witches’ cauldron, along with the bat wings and eye of newt.
Mort knew that Tim had been told by both Jack and Keely that Suzanna was pregnant.
The only one who knew nothing more than the fact that she was pregnant was Suzanna.
Interesting. The major player in all of this was the only one who seemed to be out of the loop.
But only Mort knew about the morning sickness and all the rest of it. And, unless the man wanted to see all of his toupees strung together, weighted down with rocks, and tossed into the nearest river, he’d keep his mouth shut.
Which meant, realistically, bottom line, that only Aunt Sadie and Mort knew about the morning sickness.
Mrs. B. was out of the picture, at least for two weeks, visiting her sister in Tampa.
Margo was nesting, or so Aunt Sadie called it, constantly having to be dragged out of closets and boxes and back to the padded bed Suzanna had bought for the birthing.
Lucky had come back from the vet yesterday morning, okayed for surgery, and was hiding out at Aunt Sadie’s. According to his aunt, the cat would not be allowed back in the main house until the kittens were at least six weeks old, because otherwise he might hurt them.
Banished. Just like his master. Tim decided he was lucky he wasn’t Lucky, or he’d be “snipped,” too.
It was October eleventh, and the Phillies had won the playoffs, three to two in five games, and were now on their way to the next series, and the pennant. No time to go home, only time for meetings and more practice and Sam’s latest innovation, Yoga.
Except that the manager had canceled the Yoga sessions after Romero’s right leg had gone into such a cramp in the Lotus position that Jerry had had to get out of the whirlpool to help unbend him.
He still phoned Suzanna every day, and she still said she was fine when he asked her, and he still said he was fine when she asked him. Then they talked for a few minutes about the games, about Margo, about how much he hated his hotel rooms, and they hung up again.
Tim looked at his watch, then at the phone stuck into the back of the seat in front of his. It would be too late to call when they landed.
He grabbed the phone, read the directions, and dialed.
“Trehan residence,” a male voice said after five rings, just as Tim was wondering if the machine would pick up and he’d end up talking to his own voice again.
Tim took another quick look at his watch. It was after nine. “Who the hell are you?” he asked, sitting forward, so that his seat belt grabbed at his hips.
“Oh, is that you, Tim? This is Sean. Sean Blackthorne. I’m afraid Suzanna can’t come to the phone right now.”
“Wanna bet?” Tim said, breathing heavily through his nose. “Get her... now.”
“No, really, Tim, she can’t. You see, Margo has gone into labor.”
Tim closed his eyes, tight. “She’s having the kittens?”
“Yes, she’s gone into labor. Since I breed Persians—Margo’s from one of my litters, you know—Suzanna asked if I’d come over when the big event was imminent.”
“To answer the phone for her?”
“Oh, oh no, no, of course not. It’s just that Margo seems to have decided to have her kittens under your bed, Tim.”
“My bed?” Cripes! Why didn’t she rent a billboard? Tell everyone they slept in separate bedrooms.
“A lovely piece, Tim,” Sean was saying. Tim barely heard him through the red haze that was building behind his eyes, inside his ears, everywhere. “Tester. Early Tudor. A very good reproduction.”
The haze cleared a little. Blackthorne was talking about his bed. His and Suzanna’s bed. Okay, okay, he could deal with that.
“So why can’t Suzanna come to the phone?”
“Why? Because, Tim, she’s under the bed, with Margo. Thankfully, it’s a very high bed, but we still have to get her out from under there. Really, Tim, I hate to be rude, but I really do have to go help Suzanna.”
“Uh-huh, okay. Sure,” Tim said, stabbing his fingers into his hair. “Look, Suzanna already knows where the team is staying tonight, but she’d have to call before midnight, because Sam makes sure the switchboard won’t put calls through to the rooms after that. So have her call me just as soon as Margo... just as soon as you know anything. Leave a message at the desk if she has to, okay?”
“Fine,” Sean said, then added, “You’re doing very well, Suzanna tells me. Congratulations.”
“Don’t watch, huh?” Tim asked, sure Suzanna could never be attracted to a man who didn’t like baseball.
“I play the occasional game of handball at my gym,” Sean said rather proudly, “but I’m afraid I don’t really follow sports, per se.”
Wuss. No wonder she’d dropped him after a couple of dates.
“That’s great, Sean,” Tim said, trying to relax. “Look, Margo’s okay, right? I mean, Suzanna’s crazy about that cat.”
“She’ll be fine. Unless, of course, she isn’t. Breech births, things like that. She really is too young to be having a litter. She’s already ruined for showing, mating with a common domestic shorthair, and who on earth would want nonpedigree kittens? I told Suzanna to have her aborted, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”
Tim hadn’t known about that. But if he had heard about the option of aborting the kittens, he could have told Sean that Suzanna wouldn’t go for it. Not unless a vet had told her it was the only way to save Margo, which obviously he hadn’t, because Suzanna had taken the cat straight to the vet.
“Again, I really have to—oh, good, Suzanna, you’ve got her. Wonderful. Tim? I have to hang up now.”
“You’ll tell Suzanna to call me—cripes!” he ended, talking to a dead phone.