Soar (19 page)

I DIDN'T THINK
any more could be packed into this week, but then . . .

The Magellan Group makes a unanimous decision (Walt is the only voting member) to move its corporate headquarters from St. Louis to Hillcrest, Ohio.

This accomplishes two things.

1. I get to go to seventh grade and beyond in this town and continue to coach the Eagles.

2. Walt and Dr. Dugan can get married.

I know. The marriage part seems a little fast to me, too, and I mentioned this to Walt.

“It is fast, Jer. But when you know, you know.”

It seems fast to Yaff back in St. Louis, too, who doesn't think it's a good idea.

“Walt says I can visit and you can come here.”

“It won't be the same, Eagle Man.”

I know. Change is like that.

It also seems fast to Jerwal, who has always had the run of the house except for the bathroom. Dr. Dugan is threatening to put up a sign:

ABSOLUTELY NO ROBOTS
IN THE BEDROOM

I talk to Jerwal, two SARBs, and the newest baby robot, a little brown one so small, it can fit in a pocket. I call it Son of SARB. “I think it's limiting, you guys. We're going to get a new house, and I wish you could have the run of it, but it's out of my hands. It's not that she doesn't care, believe me . . .”

I mention to Dr. Dugan that we could program the robots to go down the aisle of the church—before the bride, of course. She says no to that one, too.

The wedding is in six weeks. Aunt Charity is coming. I tell her, “You're not going to believe how mature I am.” She asks when the last time we cleaned the refrigerator was. I let Walt answer that one.

Walt and Sarah (I'm calling her that now) are looking for a new place to buy. I mention it's important for
us to live within walking distance of Franny's house. I also ask if they are planning on having other children.

“I might be enough for any couple,” I warn them.

There's a lot that's up in the air.

Sarah might not be fully into life with robots, but she totally gets eagles. She and I are watching the eagle cam streaming live from the Nature Conservancy. The father eagle is showing the babies how to fly. One little bird has just flown to another branch. We applaud. The other wants to stay in the nest.

“They don't know they're eagles yet, Sarah. They have to learn what they can do.”

“I see that, Jeremiah.” She's focused on the baby in the nest. “Come on, baby. You can do it.”

“The mother died tragically, but the father didn't give up.”

The father eagle flies close to the nest to give the baby the general idea. He flutters a little, as the baby takes a deep eagle breath, jumps off, and flaps like crazy. It just makes it to the other branch.

“Yay!” we shout.

I can tell that Sarah is impressed by this eagle. She says, “Jeremiah, I want to help you fly as long and as far as you can.”

This is a very positive sign. Some new mothers just march ahead and don't want input.

I do have one big worry, and I mention it at dinner.

“Sarah, will they still let you take my insurance?”

“Actually, you'll be getting another doctor. It's best that way. But I'll keep watch.”

I count. “That will be my fifth cardiologist!”

“See how lucky you are? Some kids don't even have one.”

◆ ◆ ◆

Walt is so happy, it's almost weird. He's cleaning the house and barbecuing more. He's throwing out his shirts that have stains on them.

“Don't change too much,” I warn him.

“We're all going to change a little after the wedding, Jer. It takes time to get the lineup right. You know this.”

I know this. We're having a series of pre-family meetings to discuss realities. Sarah brings her dachshund Hillary along. Hillary is not a team player. She barks constantly at Jerwal, which sends him into a corner. Once she pees on a SARB, who shuts right down.

“She never does this!” Sarah shouts. It's going to
take a lot of visits for Hillary and the robots to be able to deal with each other.

Another Big Issue is baseball—Sarah is a Red Sox fan, being from Boston, and doesn't root for other teams. We are Reds, Cardinals, Cubs, and Yankees fans. Actually, there has yet to be a baseball game played that I know of where I couldn't find a team to root for. I'm concerned that the playoffs might be difficult.

I make the mistake of walking into the kitchen when Walt and Sarah are kissing. I leave fast. Another time they were kissing in the hall. Later, I will mention the importance of No Kissing Zones in the house, but not tonight.

Tonight I bring out Baby and tell the story.

Sarah is quiet as I do. She is studying Baby the way she looks at an X-ray. “Do you know what I see, Jeremiah?”

“What?”

“First, an eagle stuffy shows great distinction—about you and who was taking care of you before. And second, no one remembers their lives when they were a baby. No one. We piece that part together by what others tell us. So I'm inclined to think that those first
nine months for you are symbolized by this eagle.” She picks Baby up, smiling. “What a gift.”

I'm quiet now. I hadn't thought of it telling the story of my life before Walt.

“I think,” Sarah says, “we carry love with us, even if we don't remember the people who loved us.”

I agree with that.

Then she tells me, “I was adopted, too.”

I can't believe this. “You were?”

“I was a baby. Three months old. My birth mother was a fifteen-year-old girl who lived in Georgia. I tried to find her when I was older, but she died before she turned eighteen. An overdose. I don't know anything about my biological father.”

Walt's phone buzzes. He smiles at us and quietly leaves the table.

Sarah rubs Hillary's head. “My adopted parents always told me that I grew in their hearts. I loved that. It might be why I became a cardiologist.”

I laugh, because it's all kind of perfect. That is, until Hillary pees on a SARB again.

“Bad dog!” Sarah scoops Hillary up. “She never does this.”

She's done it twice now—I think she likes it.

Sarah takes Hillary out back; I sit at the table thinking about hearts.

You can look at one in a laboratory all covered with blood and wonder, how can something so ugly have so much power?

You can have yours beaten up by all kinds of things and wonder if you'll ever feel right again.

You can have a weak one and wonder if it can ever be fixed.

You can get a new one, not just by a transplant, but by people around you giving you love and courage.

Uncle Jack, who was very good at cards, always told me, “It's not the hand you're dealt that matters—it's the way you play it.”

Uncle Jack played his hand strong until the end. I wish he could have known Sarah.

I put my hand over my heart.

Alice, we're getting a new mother . . . with a seriously big heart.

But she is still my doctor, and I need a few tests, which makes everything difficult.

THE MVP (Most
Valuable Player) Award dinner is being held, possibly for the first time in the history of sports, in a hospital cafeteria.

Two days ago my heart started beating too fast and my blood pressure went up. I told Sarah, “I'm really fine.” She said, “I'd like you to be finer than this.”

By “this” she meant a little nauseated, just a little; a little tired; a little pale.

“I'm naturally pale,” I mentioned.

Walt drove me to the hospital with Sarah. I figured I was staying overnight. Sarah waved her hand in the ER and things happened fast.

“How are you feeling?”

Everyone asked me this. The guy drawing blood. The woman giving me an echocardiogram. The guy who brought me Jell-O.

“I don't do Jell-O,” I told him.

Being in the hospital meant I couldn't be more involved in helping choose the MVP for the season. I know that El Grande won't choose Franny because she's his granddaughter, but she should be considered. I gave him my short list for who should win.

Franny
Terrell
Sky

We ordered a serious trophy with an eagle on the top. Not a cartoon eagle, either—a real one that glares at you:
Don't mess with me.

Walt slept in a chair by my bed all night. He's gotten very good at sleeping in hospital chairs.

I'm tired. Now my blood pressure is too low again.

You'd think winning big in front of everybody would have a positive effect.

Alice, winning is good for the heart.

Just even out. Got that?

Sarah is in her white coat, checking the machines around my bed. I've got an IV in my arm.

“I don't have to have the IV at the dinner, right?”

“Correct. I'm taking it out now.”

Sarah takes the needle out so easily, it hardly hurts.

“I'm also not wearing the hospital gown to dinner.” The one I'm wearing has little bears on it—a downside of being in pediatrics.

“I don't know, Jeremiah. Think of the photo ops.”

“You and Walt are perfect together.”

She beams. “I know . . . and you can get dressed now. Your dad's waiting for you downstairs.”

I go into the bathroom that smells like antiseptic, put on my one pair of good pants and a white shirt.

“How do you feel?” she asks.

I put my arms out like wings. “Fantastic.”

“You look very nice. Shall we?”

Sarah and I head downstairs to the cafeteria. I'm glad I don't have to miss the awards dinner, but I hate it when people make a fuss because of me.

◆ ◆ ◆

When I see the trophy, I almost have a heart attack. First, it's by the Jell-O section in the hospital cafeteria. I would like to make this clear:

There is no Jell-O in baseball!

Worse than that—the eagle on the trophy is not the one I ordered. I ordered a gold eagle—this eagle is
blue! Blue is a complicated color for me, because when my old heart was failing, my skin was a little blue. Gold is a non–medical emergency color.

I stare at the blue eagle.

El Grande walks up. “They were out of gold eagles.”

How is that possible?

But in life, I've learned you have to adjust.

Walt comes over, and we sit at the head table with Franny, El Grande, Dr. Selligman, and Mr. Hazard, who has less of a personality when he's not the official Hillcrest Eagle.

Benny's mom and dad are telling him everything that's going to happen so he doesn't get surprised, but Benny doesn't want to sit at the table. He carries his chair over to the wall and sits there.

El Grande gets up, walks to the podium, and says to the group, “In honor of these dinners, we've found a good source of rubber chicken for your enjoyment. And if anybody has trouble digesting, I guess we're in the right place to take care of that.”

People laugh.

He grins. “How do I talk about this crazy season? How do we bring it to a close? I . . . well . . . I don't think we do. I think it's our launching pad for the new
day. I've been coaching baseball on and off for a few decades now, but I learned something with this team of Eagles that I'd not understood before.

“I'd always taken baseball for granted. I never thought it wouldn't be here for me. I'm not saying we didn't need to stop and reevaluate after all that happened in Hillcrest—we did. But baseball is worth fighting for. Not just because it's a game, but because of what it teaches you, what you become if you play it right. I've never been prouder of a team than you Eagles. I've never seen better teamwork in such a short time. And, Jeremiah—if you don't end up managing a major league ball club, then something will have gone terribly wrong in the world.”

“Here here,” Mr. Hazard says.

I grin and look at Walt as people applaud.

El Grande leans into the microphone. “Jeremiah, I have something for you tonight. Because, son, you've got it all, and you didn't hold any of it back from me or from this team. Jeremiah Lopper, I am so pleased to announce that you are the recipient of the MVP Award.”

There's a burst of applause.

I just stare at El Grande.

What's he talking about? I didn't play!

Walt slaps my shoulder.

I'm not sure what to do.

El Grande chuckles and points at me. “And I know that mind of yours is going full tilt, saying, ‘What are you doing, old man? I didn't play!' Isn't that right, Jeremiah?”

I nod and look down.

“Well, I found this definition: a player is a person who takes part in a sport or a game. And, son, you took your part, and because you did, we're all here. You coached everyone on this team, including me. So come on up and get this beast of a trophy.”

Franny walks over in a pretty blue dress holding the trophy with the blue eagle.

Honestly, I don't know if I can go up there, because I don't want to cry.

But I can't say I don't want it.

I absolutely do!

So I walk up, tough, with eagle focus. No way do eagles cry.

El Grande slaps me on the back. “We'll have your name put on later.”

Everybody stands up to clap for me, which has
never happened, and when you're trying not to cry, it's best to look at the weirdest thing in the room. So I focus on the Oxen doing the wave, standing on their chairs, carrot curls sticking out of their nostrils.

I look at Benny, who is sitting in his chair by the wall, hugging himself, but smiling big at me.

Franny hands me the trophy. It's heavy, but not so heavy that I can't lift it high. She's not mad at me anymore.

“Congratulations. You totally deserve this.”

“I'm not sure I do, but I'm not giving it back.”

The people who work in the cafeteria are shouting, “Yeah, man! Yeah!” I wave.

Doctors in white coats are clapping. I nod to them, because doctors kept me alive for this moment.

I walk back to my table and sit down. Walt's eyes are red—if he starts crying, I'm finished. Sarah is cheering. I will probably hug the trophy when I get home, but not now. People are still applauding even though it's time to stop. El Grande says something else, but honestly I don't hear it.

I should be listening, but I feel something new and strong breaking through me. And I just know that in
years to come, when they ask me,
What was the thing that turned your heart around? What healed it? . . .

I'll say,
It was baseball that did it.

Every hit.

Every miss.

Every person.

Isn't that right, Alice?