There Used to Be a Ballpark

"I'm sorry." She said. "I was drunk and way out of line. We've had some... issues in the recent past and I've been a bit overprotective since. What I did was inexcusable and I can't say I'm sorry often enough. Will you forgive me?"

"Under two conditions, first that I can give your son Jeff his lessons... with anyone around to supervise that you wish, and second that you and your family join me for dinner up in 1st class tonight."

Actually, I was pretty sure that the second condition wouldn't fly, and she did think at least twice about before accepting. We shook hands, agreed to be friends, and she and her daughter Joni left for their lunchtime quilting workshop while Jeff and I discussed the endless subject of pitcher throwing mechanics. Naturally, I had plenty of other fans to entertain with old baseball stories and kids to coach, but I did get some time, more or less alone with him to work on his throwing fundamentals.

After awhile, Peter the Pitcher even forgot that he was annoyed at the kid, and also at me for not drinking with him all night, that he came over to offer additional advice. Fortunately, one of my best friends on my first team was a pitcher. We'd been roommates in AAA together and during our four years in the majors together we'd hung out a lot and talked more than a little shop. I wasn't much of a pitcher myself, but I knew the basic mechanics about how to throw six different breaking pitches. Now I was teaching a couple of the gentler ones to Jeff.

Coaches have two theories about teaching the breaking stuff to kids. Some do, some don't. As a high school pitcher, unless you have a fastball clocked in the high nineties, you've got to have something other than the old 'number one' heater to rely on. Hitting is timing - and you just can't groove the same pitch over and over again. Some say curve balls and especially sliders put too much arm strain on a young growing arm. Others say that this is exactly the time to start developing that necessary arm strength. I split the difference myself. Every pitcher needs a good changeup and an acceptable curveball, but I saved the mysteries of the slider for another year. That pitch screws up even veteran arms.

By the time we finished up our final workout session of the late afternoon, even Pete the Pitcher was cheerfully giving advice and minor adjustments to Jeff's delivery. Already the kid had the arm strength to throw a nasty rising fastball and a slightly cut one that was a bit slower and had some nastily wicked movement that thought would make a good changeup. With some more work on his throwing mechanics he was going to be a very good high school pitcher hopefully next spring.

**************

Dinner didn't turn out to be nearly as stressful as I had been concerned it might be. She was sober, but from what I could tell, both of her children had pushed her hard into turning up for this dinner date, and she was under strict instructions to talk about nothing other than the weather. It seems it had been awhile since she had been on a date, if having dinner in a large restaurant with ones children counts. Gradually, as she began to relax, we found that we could safely add quilting and even baseball to our discussion. She liked the sport and attended her son's Little League games faithfully. My mother had done hand-quilting when she was younger, before the arthritis in her hands became too limiting, so I found we actually did have quite a bit in common.

After dinner, 'we' even took an evening walk around the top decks. She had bought bargain tickets for this trip, so I took everyone on a nice long tour of the upper 1st class decks, and impulsively I invited her to dinner the following night at the fancy-shmancy French restaurant up top. Surprisingly, she readily accepted.

Marcie was indeed newly divorced, with the judge's signature on the decree probably still damp. Her ex-husband, Ed, seemed to share a lot in common with my father; he was an ill-tempered surly man who was equally quick to use his fists to keep his wife and children in-line. When Marcie heard her daughter scream out one night and discovered that Ed was about to initiate their thirteen year old daughter into the duties of sex, that was the final straw. She filed for divorce and filed to get a restraining order against him, which he constantly violated.

I was leading Marcie and the kids back to their stateroom quite late that evening when we soon discovered that Ed had been stalking her yet again, and had apparently followed her to this cruise. I guess Illinois restraining orders aren't particularly valid while in international waters in the Caribbean. He wasn't anywhere to be seen, but he had angrily tossed about everything in her small stateroom, carved up the sheets and pillows with a knife and had left an angry note on her night table. The kid's small cabin next door was undamaged.

We called security and I demanded that they move her to a new stateroom (they even upgraded her a little to a small suite with attached rooms for the children that was bigger and nicer, and with a ocean view) and a check of the hallway security camera confirmed that the intruder was indeed Ed. He'd apparently used a false name and passport, because his name was not listed as being a passenger. There was some thought that he might have joined the ship at our most recent Port, St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands, where he could have flown directly from the states to meet the ship and not needed any passport at all. Security said they would check this out, but we didn't have much hope that they would do much of anything else about the situation.

Getting everyone settled into their new larger cabin took awhile and I found myself getting more and more nervous, as if the opposing pitcher in the final innings was going to mow down our entire batting order and keep me away from that one last at-bat where I might be able to get the game winning hit to save the day! Silly, but my nerves were just like that.

After a brief talk with Jeff, I warned him that he needed to be my eyes and ears, to help watch after his mother and protect and keep her from danger. This was a 'man's job' I impressed upon him, and there was zero margin for failure. We compared schedules of where everyone should be during the day tomorrow, and Jeff agreed to be the runner to come get me at any time if Ed was spotted. We even did a test rehearsal, assuming that Ed would be watching carefully the area around the doors to the quilting exhibition rooms. It was clearly the place he'd look first to find her again, after discovering that she'd moved to a new cabin.

I had my scheduled clinic duties in the morning and afternoon, so I couldn't always be around if urgently needed. I was counting on Jeff to stick to the plan, and he didn't disappoint me!

***********

Sometimes plans work almost too well. True to my prediction, Jeff had tried to disguise himself so that he could watch for the watcher, but Ed had seen and very nearly grabbed Jeff first. Keeping his wits about him, the young lanky athletic kid remembered what he was supposed to do and easily stayed at least five steps ahead of his abusive dad and lead him seemingly randomly in flight right towards me.

I saw them racing down the length of the deck right towards the Legends skills area that was all screened in with netting. The morning session had not yet started and I mostly had this part of the deck area to myself, so I took advantage of it. Jeff kept his cool and ran right past me, into the only door to the workout area. I pretended to not be paying the slightest bit of attention, and when Ed was about to charge right past me, not paying me the slightest bit of attention either, I was read to act. I straight-armed him just under his chin with my arm while he was running at full speed, flipping his worthless ass hard on his back onto the deck. I might be short, but I've got a lot of upper body strength and really strong fingers!

Just to make sure that I had his attention, I punched him three times fast and hard into his soft gut. The guy might feel tough enough to beat on his wife and kids but it was laughable that he could take on a former professional athlete, even a slightly older one with screwed-up knees. Banging his head hard against the metal deck railing five or six times was just extra's, for fun, to see exactly how many pieces I could make out of his broken nose.

Jeff was enjoying the view much too much... no kid should watch his father's face get turned into hamburger, and enjoy watching it happen... so I sent him off to get security. This gave me a few poignant private moments with the dumb fucker.

"Ed, I hear that you've been a real naughty boy, so it's time that you picked a fight with someone your own size! Heck, I think I'm at least four inches smaller than you. I'm going to let you get up and try to take a swing at me, like the big macho piece of shit that you are -- then I'm going to kick you in the balls and break a few ribs and probably also your jaw. If you get up again, I'll then break your knee in at least three places."

Fortunately, the dumbfuck only got up once, and for the record (in self-defense of course), I did break three of his ribs and definitely succeeded in breaking his jawbone. Security eventually showed up; I think they had been watching and waiting to see what kind of beatdown I was going to do for the post-game fireworks show.

"Listen and learn, cockbite!" I whispered into Ed's ear as they drug him off to the brig. Yes, most cruise ships do have a small security area for housing troublemakers. "The game is over and you lost. Go home and stay very far away from your ex-wife and the kids, they're much better off without you in their life. You don't ever want to see my face again, do you?"

The cretin just glared at me and I shrugged. Some people just can't learn, and there is always some tard that's going to swing at that 0-2 strike pitch that is thrown obviously and intentionally out of the strike zone.

************

Ed stayed in lockup for the rest of the cruise, pending breaking and entering, vandalism and assault charges to be filed in Miami. I took the lovely ex-wife to lunch and then later for a four-star dinner at the best pay restaurant on the boat. The kids hung with us for lunch, but they let us adults out on our own for dinner, and gave us pointed orders to stay out late!

We dined, danced and dithered about kissing each other while we held hands together out on the stern, watching the ship's wake in the moonlight. We both decided to take the risk and twenty minutes later I was gently unzipping her evening gown and it fell to my cabin floor, leaving her naked and very, very appreciative.

The kids giggled at us both when we showed up at the breakfast buffet still dressed in our evening clothes, which looked rather rumpled from a night on the floor, but we didn't care. The juveniles then winked at each other for awhile, but didn't much seem to care that I had returned their mother to them in a rather more soiled condition than which she had left. Neither of us frankly cared, and they could exchange 'Ooo la-la' looks and winks with each other until the cows came home!

I'm afraid to say that our goodbyes were a bit more sincerely permanent than either of us would have really preferred. Marcie was adamant that she needed some emotional recovery time after her marriage, to get the kids settled if nothing else. The looks on both kid's eyes made it plainly clear they'd prefer a suitable boyfriend or even better, a really cool ex-jock of a step-dad with them at home.

The words from my own mouth didn't really help either. I was equally adamant that I didn't really like living in Chicago, but if she wanted to consider moving to San Francisco, I'd offer every possible assistance. She didn't.

We hugged, kissed and said goodbye... and I think we both tried very hard to mean it. We had each other's email and mail addresses and phone numbers, and promised we call each other. A very polite lie on both our parts. I wanted her too much for any long distance relationship and I was very scared that if I heard her voice again I'd pack my bags for South Side... and probably never again leave.

**********

It was a little over six months later when the telephone rang early one evening just as I was about to go out for dinner with one of my 'friends with benefits'. It was Jeff calling from the hospital letting me know that Marcie had been beaten nearly to within an inch of her life and Ed their violently wayward father had already attempted to grab both him and Joni from their house. They were at her bedside now and Chicago PD had stationed an officer in front of her door. Children's Protective Services had also been informed and were inches away from taking Joni and Jeff to a foster home, but they had been temporarily put off when the kids said that an uncle was on the way right now from California to come and take care of them.

Darn tooting!

My name had been added to the security access for Marcie's security hospital ward and by the time I arrived in the wee hours of the morning the doctors had decided that she was going to live and probably make a complete recovery. One of her eyes had been damaged by the severe beating she had taken and they hoped that the swelling would be down enough to permit an operation there in a day or two.

Staring down the CPS matron, who looked bigger than Mark McGwire on steroids, I grabbed the eager hands of Joni and Jeff and hauled them right out of there, for now, to the only safe place I could think of to keep them. Mom and Dad's house.

When I noticed that a car was following me the entire way from the hospital, I knew that I had made the right, but very painful, decision. Grudges are grudges, but when it's life or death at stake, there is no one you can trust better than your own family.

I phoned mom from the car to let her know that I was on the way and that I might be bringing along some unwanted trouble along with me, and I gave her a very terse outline of the situation to report to my father. My father might be old and in a wheelchair, but he's mean and nasty enough to make any intruder think twice... I knew this for certain from direct personal experience.

Pulling into the driveway I noted Ed's car slow down just a little but then drive past the house. He wasn't ready just yet for a confrontation, but he'd be back very soon, and I needed to get the kids into the house for safety.

"Hello son." My father casually stated as he greeted me at the door in his wheelchair. He had an oxygen mask on but his words were still razor sharp and crisp, despite his heart attacks and recent stroke. If a man could live by just sheer willpower, it was my father.

"Hello dad. This is Jeffery and his sister Joni, and I've brought them with me to stay for a few days, and if their mother is willing, I'd not be adverse to some sort of further more permanent arrangement. I need to keep them safe -- their father is insane and is trying to grab them after nearly killing their mother last night. I'd rather that he didn't, and am quite prepared to be very firm about this. He's laid his hands on these good kids one time already too many!"

"Hrmph." My father grunted. "Any so-called man that beats his spouse... or his children, deserves whatever unhappy things that occur afterwards." This was the closest he could ever come to making an apology to me, but it was sincere. Sometimes it just takes one little stitch to start binding an old bleeding wound, and I did something I had not done since I was a little overly trusting little boy, I held and hugged my elderly ailing father closely for nearly a full minute.

In a moment or two after our reunion was done, Mom came along and escorted the kids firmly down into our cellar where they would be safe. There was a pair of guest beds already prepared down there next to the furnace and she stayed down there with them. No mamma wolverine or bear could be as protective as my mother, as I heard her lock the cellar down behind her. There was also more than one gun, with ammo down there as well, should she need it, but I was willing to bet that Ed would never make it anywhere near that far.

Checking that all of the doors and windows of the house were securely fastened or locked, I noticed that Ed's car had returned and saw that the bastard had a hand-gun visible as I watched him get out of his car. They're pretty much illegal to own in Chicago under the Daley regime, but Ed wasn't really the law abiding sort of person anyway.

"Shit. He's coming and he's got a gun." I muttered.

"Good for him, I always preferred a fair fight! I haven't had a worthy adversary since I came home from Korea... nothing but young punks and dope-fiends!" My father grinned. "You remember where 'Bessie' is kept, don't you?"

"Same place?"

"Yep." Bessie was my father's favorite shotgun, passed down to him from his father. Back in the day, he used it often for duck and goose hunting, and even sometimes deer. He always kept it loaded right in the coat closet by the front door, with a round each of deer slugs and 00-buckshot loaded in the two barrels. He'd only had to use it once when I was around, when I was just a boy and a drug crazed burglar broke down the front door right after dinner time. The combination of the two shells nearly cut the deranged thief in half and my father never lost a moment of sleep over that unfortunate event. Supposedly there had been other 'incidents' both before I was born and after I'd left home. Knowing my father, he probably had a sign posted on the door saying "Rob me! Lots of easy loot here!"

Finding the door locked, Ed beat on it a bit, shouted at us to bring out his kids, and then fired two bullets into the deadbolt lock right before he kicked the door down. He burst in and wildly looked around for his two children, with his gun fairly safely pointed downwards. The guy might have been a nutjob, but he didn't want to accidently shoot his kids.

Dad, smiling in his wheelchair just to the side of the doorway with 'Bessie' in hand, had no moral quandaries whatsoever at pulling the triggers to both barrels and turned Ed's chest into an unspeakably large gaping hole, blowing most of his guts, ribs and spine right onto the front lawn. Standing behind dad, I swear I could see the early morning dawn outside right through that huge cavity as Ed slowly fell over in the doorway, dead before his head hit the doorframe, let alone the floor.

"Stupid dumb fuckers keep picking my house to break into!" Dad muttered, not altogether unhappily. Yep, family drama or not, my dad was indeed still the right person to go when you needed a major problem solved... and rather permanently.

Chicago PD showed up, packed up poor deluded Ed's body, literally scraping it up off of our sidewalk, and took a brief statement from my father and myself. Good old "Castle Doctrine" at its very finest; Dad had used his legally registered weapon in clear defense of the life and safety of his home and family against an obviously armed and deranged assailant. The shooting would go to a grand jury and they'd declare 'lawful shooting in self defense' about fifteen minutes later.

After the body was collected and covered on a gurney, I asked if Jeff or Joni wanted to see their father's body for the last time. They didn't. Marcie made them attend the funeral though, out of principle -- he was their father after all.

*************

They made Marci stay in the hospital for nearly a full week. There was some concern about internal bleeding that was slow to heal and the first eye surgery didn't go quite as well as they had hoped. For now they were going to let the injured eye heal and recover, but another surgery was going to be necessary later.