Date: Sun, 15 Feb 2015 16:27:38 -0500
From: Paul Knoke <paulkdoctor@gmail.com>
Subject: INSTALLMENT SEVENTEEN of "THE FATHER CONTRACT"

INSTALLMENT SEVENTEEN

from

THE FATHER CONTRACT

By Arthur Arrington

Edited Paul Scott

Please try to donate to Nifty so that we can keep this wonderful saga of PJ
and Jack going and going and going. . .

Turn to the next page . . .
Chapter Thirty-Four: Living Two Dreams

When PJ followed Jack through a double set of glass doors into a huge
warehouse-like department store, his mouth opened in astonishment. As far
as he could see in any direction, there were clothing, equipment, and
shelves of items all having to do with sports.

"It's big," Jack told him. "Everything from a complete boxing ring to a
rubber gasket for your scuba tank, they got it. I thought maybe you'd like
to check out the clothes."

They walked back to the men and boys' clothing area and PJ looked in
bewildered confusion at all the racks of things to wear. Everything seemed
to be all jumbled together.

"I know you don't need anything for school," Jack told PJ. "I'm sure those
New York lawyers of yours bought all the stuff for that you could ever
use. But if you go to that sports camp you talked about in Florida, you're
gonna need some things I know they didn't get you. You can't tell me they
dress there the way you dress at that school of yours. Now, I've got a list
here. . ."

Jack fumbled around in his pocket and came out with an old envelope covered
with writing. "Let's start with the basics," he said. "First we need to get
you a jock." PJ felt his face flush with embarrassment. "Better get two of
them," Jack admonished, "and at least one with a slot for a cup. You'll
need that for football. If you don't wear it and get hit in the nuts,
you'll be mighty sorry!" PJ giggled because that was funny. And then he
felt a surge of pride. Why, to think that Jack assumed he was becoming a
"man"!

"While we're on this aisle, get yourself some new underwear, too. How 'bout
these neat colorful boxers?"

"Jack?" responded PJ. "I'd rather have briefs kinda like my Speedos. If
it's OK with you, can I get white Fruit of the Looms instead?

"Your call, Tiger. Get two or three packs of whatever you like."

For the next three hours, PJ plowed through rack after rack of sports
clothing, with Jack advising him. But Jack insisted that PJ make all the
final choices. "You're too old to have people picking out clothes for you,"
he told the boy. "You need to make those decisions yourself. I'm just here
to advise. I'll tell you who we really need here, is Charlie.  Charlie
knows what kids in Florida are wearing. I should've called him.  I wish I'd
thought of it."

Jack also made PJ try everything on. "If you don't try it, don't buy it,"
he said. "It's your funeral, PJ. If you want to show up at that camp
looking like some nerd in clothes that don't fit, that's your business. But
my advice is, try on everything. What did you wear when you went there last
year, anyway?"

"I dunno," PJ said, a little embarrassed again. "Just shorts and some tee
shirts, I guess."

"Yeah, well, in the future you're going in style."

Jack first helped him pick out a good pair of baseball pants. "You can use
these to practice in," he told him. Then PJ selected out some nice satin
soccer shorts in his favorite colors: red and gold and blue and gold.  Jack
also advised PJ to get some baggy skateboarding pants. "Charlie wears those
all the time," he told him. For shirts, there was a bewildering array of
selections. PJ looked at football jerseys, baseball shirts, T-shirts,
shirts in motocross and bicycle racing colors, and shirts with every team
logo he'd ever heard of. With Jack's advice, the ones PJ picked out were
all short-sleeved and baggy. "Don't buy anything that fits tight," Jack
warned him. PJ picked mostly for color. He got two big, loose cotton
T-shirts that were blue with big red and white Red Sox logos on them. "Blue
and red are the Gordonsville colors, too," he reminded Jack.

The store had an entire section devoted to nothing but footwear, and Jack
told PJ to pick out a few pairs of new sneakers. "Get something good, like
Air Jordans," he told the boy. PJ selected three pairs of shoes: a pair of
sneakers in red and gold, another in blue and gold, and one pair of Nike
baseball shoes with plastic cleats. "These will get you through the spring
and summer if you treat 'em right," Jack said, nodding in approval.

To hold all his new clothes and his old stuff as well, Jack got him a big,
new duffel bag. "The Red Sox buy our team duffel bags through this store,"
Jack told PJ. "You don't need one that big, but this'll be better than your
old one. I noticed it was almost worn out."

They took the armloads of clothes, shoes, and the new bag up to the
checkout counter, where Jack paid for it all with a credit card, and then
had the cashier girl carefully remove the tags. As she was packing
everything into the duffel, Jack said, "Hold it." He turned to PJ. "Pick
some of this new stuff to wear out of the store.  Let's see how you look."

PJ took a Red Sox shirt, one of the skateboarding pants, and the blue and
gold sneakers into a changing booth and put them on. He emerged with his
old stuff wrapped in a bundle. Jack took it from him and jammed it into the
bag. He took PJ's fitted Red Sox cap off his head, turned it so the bill
faced sideways, placed it back on his head, and stepped away to admire the
effect. "For the first time since I met you, you look like a real kid,"
Jack told him. Well, PJ wasn't so sure about that, but if Jack thought so,
he was content--at least until he got back to school, where the dress code
would prohibit Little Rascal look-alikes.

He thought they were finished shopping, but Jack now took him to a
different section in the back.  Behind a long glass counter full of wheels
and parts, PJ saw a display of dozens of wildly colorful skateboards.

"You and Erik like to skateboard, don't you?" Jack asked.

PJ nodded eagerly. "We both share Erik's board."

"Yeah. Well, it's time you had one of your own. Pick out one you like."

PJ was trembling with excitement! He could not believe how lucky he was!
First Jack had taken him shopping for clothes, just the way Bill took Erik
to buy his. And now, Jack was treating him to another real present. A
present just as good as the snowboard. PJ was so happy he couldn't think
straight! He didn't know what to do!

He looked at the display of skateboards and realized they were all
blanks. None of them had any wheels attached. He pointed this out to
Jack. "That's right, PJ," Jack assured him. "Once you pick the board you
want, these people will custom assemble it for you."

PJ looked over all the boards and finally picked a very colorful one in a
red and gold pattern. But what caught his eye the most was the decal in the
middle, a fire-breathing green dragon on a black background. "That one," he
told Jack, grabbing his sleeve excitedly!

At that moment, only one though crossed PJ's mind: This is a dream come
true!

Jack got one of the technicians over and told him to assemble a skateboard
for PJ with all the best fittings. While it was being put together, the two
wandered around looking at the sports equipment. "Geez, Jack, is there
anything they don't sell here?" PJ asked in amazement as they explored an
aisle of baseball pitching machines, tennis ball machines, and football
machines.

"They really do have it all," Jack agreed.

Once they'd picked up the skateboard and were headed out of the store with
their purchases, Jack asked, "So what do you want to do tonight, Tiger? You
wanna rent a movie? I'd take you out to one, but if I go anywhere in public
around here it causes a traffic jam, so we better not do that."

"Yeah," PJ told him his eyes shining. "Let's watch a movie at your place."

"Okay," Jack told him. "You pick. I'll give you the Blockbuster card and
you go in the store and choose something. If I go in it'll be a mob
scene. Just don't get any movie about baseball. Pick something else."

Jack had the driver take them to a local Blockbuster store, and PJ went in
with Jack's card. He checked the classic movie section first, but the store
didn't have any of his favorite Bogart films.  Quickly scanning the rest of
the aisles, he selected two movies from the '80s he liked: Back to the
Future and D.A.R.Y.L.  He rented both and brought them out to the car.

"I've heard of one of these," Jack told him as he looked at the
titles. "But what's D.A.R.Y.L about?"

"It's about a kid who's a robot and lives with his foster parents," PJ told
him. "It has one little scene in it with some baseball, Jack, but it's just
a little bit."

Jack grunted. "What do you want to eat tonight? Pizza okay?"

"Sure!" PJ said delightedly.

Jack got on his cell phone and placed an order for three pies and some
soda. PJ could hardly contain himself. This was just the way he'd
visualized it back at school when he thought of spending his vacation with
Jack. Just the two of them, hanging out together the way Erik and Bill did,
talking and having fun. He moved closer on the seat and looked up at the
big ballplayer gratefully. "Thanks, Jack."

"What for, Champ?" Jack smiled down at him.

"For everything," PJ said. "For the clothes, the skateboard. And for
letting me spend my vacation with you."

"Hey, that's nothing, Tiger," Jack said, grinning. "I just want you to have
a good time."

       	When they got back to Jack's apartment, PJ put all his new
treasures away and went to the living room to await the arrival of the
pizza. He'd hoped to talk some more with Jack, but a series of calls had
come in on Jack's cell phone and he was sitting in the kitchen talking to
someone. There was no sign of Jim.  PJ took a deep breath, gathered his
nerve, and ventured out on the patio to look at the view. Cautiously, he
walked way over to the retaining wall and stood there, looking around. In
the evening twilight, the view of the city was spectacular. But it's so
high off the ground. He closed his eyes. It'd never bothered him being up
in an airplane. But being up so high in a building like this reminded him
of where he had lived so many years ago. The very bad times in that
penthouse in Los Angeles when he was seven. He took another deep breath,
opened his eyes, and forced himself to look around again. Would he ever be
able to talk to Jack about what'd happened then? And about afterwards? He
decided that he probably could, if Jack would let him. Jack would
understand. Jack understood everything.

The pizza and soda arrived while Jack was still on the phone. PJ had to
interrupt him to get the money to pay for it. When he brought it in and put
everything on the counter, Jack was dialing another number. "I shouldn't
have let our driver get away so quick, I guess," Jack complained as he
waited for the call to go through. PJ listened while Jack ordered the car
back to pick him up. "PJ, you go ahead and eat," Jack said. "I have to go
downtown for about an hour and do an interview. I won't be long. Don't eat
all that pizza yourself. Save some for Jim and me. In fact," Jack opened a
box, "I'll just have a slice or two now to keep me going."

Though PJ was disappointed, he didn't say anything. He knew Jack had to do
certain things because he was a star player.  "You'll come back to see the
movies with me, won't you?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh yeah," Jack assured him. "I won't be gone too long."

They sat on stools eating, with PJ taking very small bites because the
pizza was so hot. They were both silent for awhile.

"Jack," PJ finally said, "do you remember when you asked if I ever thought
about my parents?"

"When was that, PJ?" Jack was looking at his watch.

"That time before last, when you visited me. When we were sitting on the
steps outside the Chapel."

"Yeah, I think so," Jack told him. He took a long drink of soda.

PJ worked on his slice some more, nibbling around the edges. He chewed
carefully, swallowed, and at last went on in a hesitant tone, "I do still
think about them. But not as much now. Only at night sometimes, I dream
that they're still alive."

             "I'm sure you miss them, PJ." Jack had started in on another
slice. "It's only normal. Even if you didn't see them too often. Any kid
would feel that way."

PJ was quiet for a long time. Then he said, "I used to live in a penthouse
like this. It was in Los Angeles." He turned to stare out at the view
through the glass wall of the living room. "We were way, way up in the air,
just like this."

Jack looked at him curiously. Just then the telephone on the counter rang
and he answered it.  "Car's here," he announced getting up. "Make sure you
get enough to eat, PJ. And don't worry, whatever is left over, Jim and I
will finish. I'll be back later."

After he left, PJ did not feel much like eating. He closed all the pizza
boxes and put the soda in the refrigerator. Then he got out one of his
books, the one called Tom Sawyer, and read for a bit.

Jack didn't come back in an hour as he'd promised. Or in two. PJ turned on
some lights as it grew dark and kept reading. A third hour went by and it
grew late. He wasn't sure what to do about the movies.  He hadn't wanted to
start one of them without Jack, but it was late enough now that they'd only
be able to see one. He decided to watch D.A.R.Y.L. Maybe Jack would come
back in time to see part of it with him. He put the cassette into the VCR
and started it.

Alone in the big living room, PJ watched the whole movie by himself. He
kept listening for the sound of the elevator and Jack's key in the door,
but it never came. At the end of the movie, when the young robot boy came
back to the family that loved him and was picked up and hugged by his
adopted father, PJ was crying.

He got up, went into the kitchen, and carefully wiped his eyes on a paper
towel. Then he rewound the cassette. While it was spinning noisily in the
VCR, he put the uneaten pizza into the refrigerator, cleaned the counter,
and washed the glasses. Once he'd put the rewound movie cassette back into
its box, he changed into his pajamas and crawled into bed.

That night, for the first time in a long, long while, he dreamed of the old
lady in the big, gray building in Chicago, and her playroom with all the
toys:

"What are you feeling?" she was asking. It was the question she was always
asking.

He crawled away on the floor and pushed the battered model car to avoid
answering.

"Vrooom, vroom . . . "

He was sitting at a table drawing an airplane. Maybe the airplane would fly
him away! . . .
       	"What are you feeling, PJ?"

 Bad . . . Bad . . . Bad and sad. When I'm bad I'm sad.

 "What are you feeling? What are you feeling? What are you feeling?". . .

      . . . PJ woke with a start and sat up, patting his pajama pants,
terrified that he had wet himself! Finally convinced that everything was
dry, he went to the bathroom for a towel to wrap around his middle as a
precaution. Then, before trying to sleep again, he put the new skateboard
Jack had given him next to the bed where he could see it in the glow of his
nightlight.

It was the beginning of a long, restless night for him.  Chapter
Thirty-Five: Different Kinds of Swings

PJ was dead-tired when he got out of bed the next day. But a busy schedule
faced him. The New York Yankees were in town.

Jack apologized to him at breakfast. "Hey, Tiger," he said after waking PJ
up and getting him into the kitchen for eggs, cereal, and toast, "I'm
really sorry about last night. It was just one thing after another. The
columnists, the TV guys--I just couldn't get away. You're not mad at me,
are you? We'll watch those movies some other time, how's that? Come on,
Champ, brighten up." He ruffled PJ's hair and patted him on the
shoulder. PJ gave him a little smile. It was impossible to be mad at Jack.

"That's the way!" Jack told him. "Hey, you've got to get me all warmed up
to play the Yankees tonight!"

They went to Fenway Park after breakfast and spent two hours doing aerobic
training. Then PJ worked again with Coach Brock. Under the coach's intense
instruction, he felt like he was really starting to get somewhere in his
hitting, making more consistent contact with the ball and swinging with
more speed and accuracy. Mr. Brock was pleased with his progress. "Now
you're starting to get the right habits," he commented approvingly.

Drained of energy at the end of his session, PJ was ready for the rest that
Mr. Harry insisted he take after lunch. An hour's sleep restored so much
that by the time he trotted out on the playing field and got into another
fly-ball drill with some of the Red Sox outfielders, he did well enough to
feel pretty good about himself, even earning an occasional "Way ta' go,
kid," from the players. Then he headed back under the stands to review
films of his swing with Coach Brock, and battle the pitching machine
again. After that, Harry grabbed him for another strength session on the
weights. "You had it easy yesterday," the young trainer told him, "but
we'll make up for that today!"

PJ was ready to collapse and die when they finished, but a couple of
sandwiches and a protein drink from the food table helped revive him. He
proceeded back to the field to look for Jack so he could warm him
up. Before he ever got there, though, he ran into the two older batboys,
Mike and Tony, taking bats out of the equipment lockers and putting them in
the dugout for the evening game. PJ joined in to help. He'd tried hard in
the last few days to develop some kind of friendly relations with these
two, but hadn't had much success. Mostly they'd just ignored him. Now,
after letting him help carry things out, they didn't even bother to thank
him. PJ finally caught sight of Jack, out throwing with someone on the
field. He went to chase more fly balls and make himself useful.

The game against the Yankees that night was a close one, and for once, PJ
was able to stay awake for the whole thing. The nap he had taken in the
afternoon and the ongoing excitement of the contest itself were enough to
keep him from dozing. In fact, Jack was the most exciting thing of all
because the Red Sox would never have won without him! He made a nice,
over-the-shoulder catch in right field that saved at least one run, and in
the late innings drove in two runs with a triple into the right-field
corner. Those extra runs gave the Red Sox a big enough lead so that a
ninth-inning Yankee rally fell short. At the end of the game, Jack ordered
PJ to go right into the locker room and change into his street clothes. "As
soon as you're dressed, go wait in the trainer's room where you have your
naps," he told the boy. "Just hang out until I come for you. The Boston
papers and TV reporters have finally noticed that you're here, and I don't
want anyone bothering you." PJ had such a long wait that he fell asleep on
Harry's cot. Jack woke him up much later to take them home. As they were
walking down the long corridor on the way to the car, Jack grinned at PJ
and said, "Well Champ, that's one win out of the way. How'd we look
tonight?"

PJ beamed up at him proudly. "You were great, Jack. I liked that catch you
made."

Jack stopped and looked around to be sure no one was listening. "Actually,
PJ," he whispered, smiling with mischievous delight, "that catch was pure,
dumb luck! I was sure the ball was over my head. I was running like crazy
to try to catch up with it and stuck my glove out. The ball just dropped
into it! I swear! Whatever you do, don't tell anyone!"

PJ giggled delightedly. "I won't," he promised.

"I think I play just like you, PJ," Jack said as they both started walking
again. "I can hit okay, but on defense everything is an adventure!"

PJ slept well that night and didn't have any dreams that he remembered.

* * *

He got up on Friday morning without Jack having to come in to wake him up
and went out to eat his breakfast, all keyed-up and ready to go. The game
was another night contest, so he and Jack followed the same schedule as
they had the day before. PJ felt like he was settling right into a routine.
"That's the way it is in professional sports," Jack said, smiling when PJ
mentioned this. "It's like going to the office every day, like being an
accountant, except maybe a little more fun."

On the way to Fenway in the car, Jack had another observation for
him. "There may be reporters around today, PJ, so try to stay out of the
way if you can. I've asked them not to bug you, but you just never know. If
any of them start asking questions, just be nice and polite and don't tell
them anything."

PJ nodded. "I won't, Jack." Then he smirked and said, "I'll try an'
remember what you told me that other time."

"What's that?" Jack asked.

"Smile and don't give 'em the finger."

They both laughed.

PJ saw reporters around the park all day, but none approached him. However,
that night before the game as they were sitting in the dugout, Jack nudged
him with his elbow. "Don't look around," he quietly said, "but that camera
across from us is looking in here. I think we're both on national TV right
now. Don't pick your nose or scratch your balls." PJ couldn't help
chuckling at that, but afterwards he kept a wary eye out, finding the
camera pointed at him several more times during the game that followed.  It
was a good night, the Red Sox starting pitcher, their Cy Young
Award-winning ace, had a solid outing, Jack collected three more hits,
including another double, and the Red Sox won again. When the game ended,
the mood in the locker room was boisterous, but PJ slept through most of
the celebrating, napping again on the cot in Harry's office until Jack came
to take him home. "Any problems?" Jack asked on the way to the car. PJ
shook his head. "Well, watch out tomorrow," Jack warned. "It's Saturday and
a day game. There's always more of 'em around on Saturday looking for a
story for the Sunday features section." He paused grimly and then added,
"Those Yankees are gonna' be tougher, too. They'll have their best pitcher
going."

* * *

For that game, PJ and Jack had to change their routines. PJ's morning
stayed the same; he and Jack still went to the park right after breakfast
and repeated a two-hour workout in the weight room.  Then, while Jack
warmed up, PJ had his session with Coach Brock. But after lunch and a short
snooze, PJ went right out to the field in his uniform, helped bring
equipment to the dugout, and warmed up Jack's fellow players while batting
practice was going on out on the diamond.

As Jack had warned, the field was swarming with reporters, columnists, and
TV crews. PJ tried to remain inconspicuous, but he was finally spotted by
two of the media: a man who said he was from the Boston Globe newspaper and
a young woman TV sports reporter. They cornered PJ by the side of the
dugout. "You're PJ Thorndyke and you're the owner of the Red Sox, aren't
you?" the woman asked, almost accusingly.

PJ smiled his best smile at her. "My name's PJ," he replied evasively. He
put out his hand. "What's yours?"

"How long have you known Jack Canon?" the Boston Globe asked, ignoring PJ's
outstretched palm.

"Jack's been my friend for a long time," PJ said with a wary smile. "He
coaches me in baseball sometimes. I'm spending my spring vacation with
him. He helped me make my school team this year.  Our first game is in two
weeks and I hope we win."

"Is it true that you forced the Red Sox to give a contract to Jack Canon
and that in return he has committed to get the team into the World Series?"
demanded the TV reporter.

"The Red Sox are my favorite team," PJ said as nicely as he could. "I hope
they win this year, don't you? Jack says the Yankees are going to be tough
today 'cause they have their best pitcher going for them. Our school team
might be good enough this year to go to our league playoffs. I hope so,
'cause we haven't gone for awhile. My best friend pitches sometimes, but I
can't throw well enough. Mostly I'm a hitter." The two reporters looked at
each other and the woman shook her head in annoyance. So PJ kept rambling
on about the Gordonsville Middle School baseball team until they lost
interest and walked away. PJ smiled to himself and went into the
dugout. After that, he wasn't bothered by any more of the media people.

The game that followed was just as tough as Jack had predicted. The Yankee
ace was good. The Red Sox battled hard, and Jack hit a solo home run that
prevented a shutout, but the Yankees still won the game five-to-one. PJ
watched Jack being interviewed after the game. He looked upbeat and
confident, but PJ was pretty sure he was disappointed inside. Jack hated to
lose. The TV cameras had been on them all day. When he'd come back into the
dugout after his home run and PJ had handed him a cup of Gatorade and stood
smiling up at him, he knew the picture had been going out all over the
country. After that, PJ had tried to be very careful so he wouldn't look
stupid if the camera was on him again. For a few of the middle innings,
Jack had even sent him into the clubhouse to work with the hitting coach,
thus keeping him out of sight and giving him a break from the tension. PJ
had hoped that the Red Sox would rally while he was in practicing. But the
Yankees were just too good.

In the car going home, Jack shook his head. "We need to win tomorrow," he
said grimly. "We have to take three out of four from them here on our home
field." He was quiet for some time before saying, "Hey, tonight's your last
night. You're flying back home after tomorrow's game. What do you want to
do? Shall we watch that movie you rented?"

PJ didn't care what they did as long as he could spend time alone with
Jack. He'd been trying not to think about how soon he'd be going home. The
week had gone by so fast! He'd never really had any time to be by himself
with his idol.

"Do I have to go tomorrow?" he asked, his eyes pleading with Jack. "Can't I
stay with you for a few more days?"

Jack shook his head firmly. "We're going out on the road tomorrow night,
PJ. That's no place for a boy your age. I don't want you hanging around in
strange hotels all day."

"I know you'd take care of me, Jack," the boy begged.

But the answer was still no. "I can't always be with you," Jack
explained. "And I don't want you off on your own.  Tomorrow it's back home
for you. Besides," he patted PJ's shoulder, "you need to go back and
practice all the things you've learned. Now, what shall we do tonight?"

"Whatever you want is okay," PJ told him. He leaned against Jack and held
his arm.

"We'll put on that movie you got, Kiddo."

Jim was already cooking hamburgers on the patio when they walked into the
apartment. PJ dumped his uniform and clothes into the washer and then took
a shower. When he came back out into the living room dressed in a pair of
his new shorts, Jim had a big platter of cooked burgers on the breakfast
bar along with buns, ketchup, and soda. "Come on, PJ, dig in," he said.

"Where's Jack?" PJ asked.

"In his room, going over the Yankee scouting reports again." Jim walked to
the hallway and yelled, "Let's go, Jack. Come and get it before the kid
eats it all!"

Jack finally came out of his room with a thick loose-leaf notebook in his
hands. He kept studying it during the meal and didn't say much. After PJ
helped Jim clean up after the meal, they all went to the living room and PJ
put the cassette of Back to the Future into the VCR. "I haven't seen this
in awhile," Jim said, getting comfortable in the recliner. "It's a great
movie." Jack sat in another chair with his notebook, and PJ lay on the
floor with a pillow from the couch.

PJ didn't enjoy the movie as much as he usually did. He noticed Jack hardly
paid attention to it, but spent most of the time flipping through the pages
of notes in the scouting report.

When the movie ended, PJ rewound it. Jim was asleep in the big recliner,
snoring softly, and Jack was writing something on a notepad as he studied
the loose-leaf binder. PJ put the movie cassette back in its box, and went
and sat on the arm of Jack's chair. Jack stopped writing and put his arm
around PJ's shoulders.

"Do you think you can beat them tomorrow, Jack?" PJ asked.

Jack nodded. "We can, if everyone on our team just does their job and plays
together. I wish some of our players were more like you, Champ." He gave
PJ's shoulders a squeeze.

"I wish I didn't have to leave tomorrow," PJ told him sadly. "There's so
many things I wanted us to do together."

"The time goes by awfully fast when you're busy. Listen, Tiger. Are you all
packed up for tomorrow? It's a team travel day. We'll be leaving right from
the clubhouse. I'll be bringing my bags with me in the morning, and so will
you."

"I'll be ready, Jack," PJ promised. "Jack?" he asked anxiously, "you're
coming to watch me play, aren't you?"

Jack nodded. "I'll get to at least one of your games, Tiger. It won't be
easy, but I'll do it. You just make sure you e-mail your schedule to me as
soon as you know it."

"Jack, you read all the e-mails I send you, don't you?" He paused, awaiting
Jack's reaction.

Jack smiled and nodded again. "I read 'em. Maybe not always right away, but
eventually I get to them. In fact . . ."--he got up out of the chair and PJ
got up with him--". . . let's get the computer and see what's on there
right now."

They went into Jack's room, got the Palmtop, and returned to the living
room, where Jack settled again in his chair before turning the little
machine on. PJ perched on the chair's arm, leaning on Jack's shoulder so he
could see the screen.

"Well," Jack said, as he looked at the two weeks' worth of PJ's messages
that had piled up, "as you can see, I'm a little behind here. But I knew
I'd be seeing you this week, so I didn't read them as quick as I usually
do. Let's see here. . ."

One by one, Jack read the e-mail messages while PJ talked to him happily,
telling him all the things he hadn't had time to put in, recalling his
little adventures and accomplishments at school.  Everything seemed so much
more fun and interesting when he could share it in person. They finished
with PJ's last message, where he told Jack about him and Erik making the
baseball team. "I knew I was gonna see you either that same day or the
next, but I just couldn't wait to tell ya', Jack," PJ said happily. I
wanted ya' to know right away."

Jack ruffled the boy's hair.  "You know, I think it's just great that you
made the team, PJ. You be sure to get a few hits for me now. That's why I
asked our batting coach to work with you. He says you're getting pretty
good." When he put his arm around PJ's shoulders to give the boy a hug, PJ
slipped off the arm of the chair into his lap. Putting both arms around
Jack's neck, PJ hugged him tightly and buried his face in his hero's chest,
wishing there was some way he could stay right there forever. He felt so
safe when he was with Jack like this, as though nothing bad could ever
happen to him again.

"Jack, I don't want to go away tomorrow," he whispered miserably.

The big man patted him on the back. "You're tired, Champ," he told the
boy. "It's time we got you to bed."

He put PJ on his feet and accompanied him to his room. "Get your things
packed," he said kindly, "and then I want you to get some sleep. Tomorrow's
a big day."

PJ took his time packing his things, and afterwards moved the clothes he
had in the washer into the dryer. When he looked in the living room, he saw
that while Jim had gone to bed, Jack was still up studying the scouting
reports.

* * *

Sunday, PJ's last day, dawned bright and clear. PJ was up early. He left
his big new duffel bag in the hallway by the front door so it would be
ready to go, and went to have breakfast. Both Jim and Jack were in the
kitchen cooking. "Eat hearty, PJ," Jim told him. "Today's a travel day. Who
knows what we'll get later!"

Jack handed PJ a plate of eggs and toast. "Fuel up, Champ. You're doing
something special today!"

PJ quickly looked up, his eyes shining. "What thing, Jack?"

"You'll see," Jack said, and he sounded mysterious. "Eat your breakfast."

PJ could hardly eat he was so excited. What could Jack be surprising him
with?

After breakfast, he made sure everything in the kitchen was cleaned up and
put away because Jack would be gone for some time and he didn't want him to
come back to a dirty apartment and think that PJ had left everything in a
mess. All three of them, Jim included, carried the bags downstairs and put
them in the trunk of the gray Lincoln when it came to pick them up.

Once they arrived at the stadium, Jack instructed PJ to "just bring your
uniform with you to the clubhouse. The driver will keep our other stuff for
us." In the clubhouse, PJ changed in front of Jack's locker, pulling on a
jock and a pair of shorts. "That's one thing you've learned this week, at
least," Jack said approvingly. "To use a jock for practice and not your
briefs."

PJ grinned at him. "I remembered, Jack."

When they were executing Jack's two-hour aerobic weight-training session,
PJ pushed himself as hard as he could since it was his last time. Jack had
trouble keeping up to him. "Geez, PJ," he panted. "Take it easy. I have to
play today."  "You keep right on going, PJ," Mr. Harry told the
boy. "Having you here pushing this man is the best thing that could have
happened to him."

"You two are going to kill me," Jack groaned.

Afterwards, once PJ got into his little Red Sox uniform, Jack took him by
the shoulder and led him to the dugout. "Aren't I doing my batting this
morning?" PJ asked.

"Yup, you're doing it," Jack told him, with a big grin. "But today, PJ, in
honor of your last day, you're taking batting practice out on the field
with the Red Sox players!"

PJ stared up at Jack, his eyes wide with amazement. "For real? he exclaimed
delightedly.

"For real," Jack assured him.

As they came through the dugout into the bright sunshine of the field, PJ's
heart swelled with pride. The big batting cage was all set up by home
plate. Many of the Red Sox players were around it warming up. They all took
turns shaking PJ's hand as he walked over. "Been great havin' you, kid,"
one said; "Thanks for all the warm-ups, PJ," said another; "Wish we could
have you all season, PJ. You're a real help," said another; "Good luck on
that school team, kid!"; "You're okay," others said.

PJ was all red in the face from embarrassment, and he kept smiling
shyly. He felt wonderful and sad all at the same time. Wonderful because
the Red Sox players were all just the greatest guys and they liked him. Sad
because this was his last day and he had to leave.

Coach Brock was standing by the cage with a wooden bat the same size as the
aluminum one PJ had been using against the pitching machine. "This is the
Big Leagues, PJ," he told him. "Can't use an aluminum bat out here on the
sacred confines of Fenway Park!" He put PJ's small helmet on his head and
handed him the bat.

"Hold it!" Jack said. He came up to PJ. "Almost forgot, Champ." He handed
PJ a pair of batting gloves in bright red and white. "Can't hit in the cage
without these!" He gave PJ a wink. "Put 'em on just like all the rest of
us."

The other players all laughed at this as PJ carefully drew the gloves
on. Then he smiled at Jack, straightened his helmet, and walked up to the
plate. He gasped in surprise when he looked and saw who was on the
mound. It was the Red Sox star pitcher. Pete Montoya, the winner of the Cy
Young Award the previous season! He tipped his hat to PJ and grinned.

Erik is never, ever going to believe this, PJ said to himself. He took his
stance in the batter's box and tried to remember what he'd been taught. The
Red Sox ace wound up and delivered a batting practice pitch straight over
the plate. PJ knew it was nothing like the kind of pitch he would throw in
a game, but it still looked awfully fast! He stepped in as the coach had
taught him and took a good swing at the ball, concentrating on keeping his
head down and following through. There was a nice solid "Thwack!" and the
ball sailed off into short left field. All the Red Sox players cheered and
a few of them called out things like "Way to hit, PJ!"; "Hey Jack, the
kid's after your job!"; "Sign him up!"

PJ gave them all a shy smile and concentrated on the next pitch, on which
he also made good contact. Altogether, Mr. Montoya gave him about twenty
pitches and he didn't do too badly. He made contact on almost all of
them. Some he fouled off, stinging his hands, but a lot of others he hit
solidly.  Towards the end, the Red Sox star gave him some stuff that were
more like Major-League game pitches --curves and fastballs, which PJ could
only wave at. Then, for the last three pitches, he went back to
batting-practice speed and PJ finished with three hits.

After the last one, the pitcher came in to shake PJ's hand and give him an
autographed baseball.  "Pretty good, PJ," he said patting the boy on the
back. "I figured I'd give you just a little of my stuff there so you could
see what it was like."

"Oh, yeah! Man, it was awesome!" PJ told him happily. "I don't see how
anyone can hit that stuff!"

The pitcher laughed. "Well, PJ," he said, "some of these guys are pretty
good hitters."

"Boy, you said it!" PJ shook the man's hand and grinned up at him. "Thank
you very much for the ball and for taking the time to pitch to me like
that. I'll never forget it, Mr. Montoya, and I know none of my friends will
ever believe it."

"Hey," the tall man said, smiling at PJ, "we all wanted you to know we
liked having you here with us this week. Good luck in your school season."

"Yeah, good luck, PJ!" a lot of the other players called out. A few came
over to shake hands with him again. After that, one of the bullpen coaches
began throwing and the Red Sox players started taking their own turns in
the cage.

"Did you enjoy that, Champ?"

PJ turned around at the sound of Jack's voice. "Oh, yeah!" he said, staring
up at Jack adoringly.  "Jack, thanks! You're the greatest!"

Here's something else I think you need," Jack handed PJ a brand-new
fielder's glove. "I know how attached you are to that old glove of yours,
but, well, maybe this one will bring you good luck too." PJ ran his fingers
over the smooth leather. It smelled wonderfully fresh, and someone had
already given it an application of neat's-foot oil. PJ saw it was a Jack
Canon-autograph model. He looked up at Jack, eyes shining, not caring how
many people were watching, and put his arms around him, hugging both the
man and his new glove tightly. "I love you, Jack," PJ softly whispered. He
hoped Jack would hear him. Jack patted PJ on the back. "Hey," he said, "how
'bout throwing a few with me to warm me up. Let's see how that new glove
works."

They played catch, PJ standing proudly in his Red Sox uniform, using his
beautiful new glove. A small crowd was already in the stands watching
batting practice, many of them kids. PJ knew that right then that he was
the envy of every boy in the park. He wished Erik and every student he knew
at Gordonsville, and all his teachers and the Williamsons and Coach Lewis
and of course Travis and Billy--that all of them could see him at that
moment!

Once Jack had loosened up, PJ went back with him to the cage and watched
him hit. There was applause from the stands when Jack walked up to the
plate, and more each time he crushed one over the wall in the outfield. PJ
couldn't get over what power Jack had in his swing and how easy he made it
look. The two batboys, Mike and Tony, came over and stood beside him,
watching. "So, kid, you going with us to Oakland when we fly out tonight?"
Mike asked.

PJ shook his head. "No, Jack says I can't. He won't let me go on the road
with him. He's sending me back to school tonight."

"I see you got a new glove," Tony said, sarcasm in the tone of his voice.

"Yeah, Jack got it for me," PJ told him proudly, showing it off.

"Geez!" Mike said. "Jack this, Jack that. You talk about him like he was
your father or something."

PJ didn't say anything. Jack is my father! he wanted to tell this jerk. But
he didn't want to embarrass Jack.

"He gives those gloves to everybody," Tony declared sneeringly. "He gets
'em free from a factory rep in return for letting them use his name. Plus
lotsa money."

"Yeah, that glove's nothin' special," Mike said. "I suppose he gave you
some batting gloves, too, and let you take some swings in batting practice?
Right, he does that for all the 'Make-a-Wish' kids, too."

"Yeah, PJ," Tony went on. "Me and Mike had you figured right from the first
day. You're just a 'Make-a-Wish' kid without a wheelchair. Jack does a
dozen of those every season. We'll probably have another one here next time
we're in town." The two older boys walked away laughing.

PJ was burning with anger. But he wouldn't give those two the satisfaction
of showing it. He thought, they're just jealous. How can they know that I
was born on the same day as Jack's little boy, and that Jack himself has
called me "Son"? Only I know that. He hugged the knowledge to his
heart. When Jack came out of the cage and said, "Let's get something to
eat, Tiger," PJ walked off the field with Jack's arm around his shoulders,
convinced he was the luckiest boy who had ever lived!

The game that followed was the most exciting one of the four-game series,
and PJ had a front-row seat in the dugout. Jack led off the scoring for the
Red Sox in the second inning with a tremendous solo home run over the Green
Monster in left field. He was wearing a big grin when he came back to the
dugout. "That oughta rattle their pitcher a little," he said when PJ handed
him a cup of Gatorade.

For awhile it seemed that way. The Red Sox scored another run that inning
when the Yankee pitcher walked two men and allowed an RBI base hit that
gave the Sox a two-run lead. But after that, he seemed to settle down and
pitched his way out of further trouble. Then the bottom dropped out of the
barrel. In the fifth inning, the Sox pitcher started walking batters. The
Yankees loaded the bases and scored four runs on four hits before they were
shut down. Now they had the two-run lead. And for two innings they kept it
because the Red Sox offense stalled.

But finally, in the eighth inning, the Red Sox got something going. Their
leadoff man in the order got a one-out single with a nifty drag bunt. The
number-two man moved him to second on a sacrifice that just barely avoided
a double-play. With two outs and a man on second, the Yankee pitcher tried
to strike out the number-three batter on a three-and-two slider that missed
low. All of a sudden there were two men on base.

The number four batter was Jack.

There was a roar from the stands as the Red Sox faithful came to their
feet!

The Yankee manager went to the mound and signaled the bullpen to send in
the closer. When the long-haired, big-mustached young gun who closed for
the Yankees came trotting across the field to the mound, PJ crossed his
fingers. As the Yankee ace started to warm up, he remembered that the guy
had a ninety-eight mile-an-hour fastball and a wicked slider, but he also
knew Jack had faced this pitcher before, and he'd know what kind of stuff
to expect. Jack can hit this dude, PJ thought. Jack can hit anybody.

The duel between Jack and the Yankee closer went on for over ten
pitches. The pitcher was careful not to give Jack anything good to hit, and
Jack kept fouling the close pitches off. Finally, the count was full. Jack
waited patiently for the Yankee ace to deliver. He got a fastball on the
inside corner and again fouled the ball into the stands. But his bat
splintered in his hands.

Mike, the first batboy, was about to run out of the dugout with a new one
when the Red Sox manager stopped him. He beckoned to PJ. It was the first
time since PJ had been at the games with Jack that the manager had
acknowledged his existence. "You take the bat out to him, kid," the manager
ordered PJ in a gruff voice. "Tell him to belt one. This is for all the
marbles. We need to beat these guys right here."

PJ grabbed the bat and ran onto the field. Late afternoon sunshine was
pouring down on the tense scene in the packed ballpark. The entire crowd
was on its feet chanting, "Jack, Jack, Jack. . . ." The noise was so loud
that when he got to where Jack was standing, waiting for him, there was no
way he could deliver the manager's message--and PJ couldn't remember it
anyway. Instead, he held up the bat, and as the big man took it from him,
PJ mouthed the words that helped him so often before his tough races in
swimming: "Never say die, Jack!" PJ formed each word distinctly so Jack
could read his lips.

Jack's eyes flashed and he grinned at PJ. For a moment, they both were
holding the bat in their hands, the big man and the little boy looking up
at him. It was what the crowd saw and remembered.  Then, Jack took the bat,
gave PJ a quick salute, and turned back to the plate. PJ scampered to the
dugout. Jack stepped into the batters' box and took his stance. The pitcher
took his sign from the catcher . . . checked the runners . . . started his
delivery. The crowd went absolutely silent as they watched the ball streak
toward the plate.

This time the pitcher made a mistake. Maybe he was overconfident. Perhaps
the short wait while Jack got a new bat had thrown off his rhythm. Maybe he
just lost his concentration. For whatever reason, instead of cutting across
a corner of the plate, the fastball he threw this time went right over the
strike zone. Jack turned on it. The sound of his bat hitting the ball was
heard all over the park. There was absolutely no doubt that the ball was
gone! It was still rising as it sailed over the centerfield wall.

The Red Sox faithful in Fenway Park went berserk. They cheered themselves
hoarse as Jack trotted around the bases and back to the dugout. They
cheered even more when Jack tipped his hat, and they kept cheering for so
long, he had to come out of the dugout a second time.  PJ was also beside
himself with excitement. He'd jumped up and down in delight as he watched
Jack's home run leave the park, and since all the other players in the
dugout were up celebrating as well, he had to back into a corner to keep
from being accidentally trampled. When Jack was finally back in the dugout,
PJ brought him a cup of Gatorade, sat down beside him, took Jack's arm, and
leaned against him.

Jack's three-run homer gave the Red Sox a one-run lead, and it was
enough. The Red Sox closer came on at the top of the ninth and got the
save, although he made it exciting by loading the bases before he got the
third out. With their win, Boston took three-out-of-four in the series and
the Boston fans went home elated. Jack was busy signing autographs for an
hour after the game.

PJ helped clean up the dugout before heading into the clubhouse where he
again changed by Jack's locker. For his trip home, he dressed in a pair of
his new baggy skateboarding pants, a big loose Red Sox tee shirt that
slipped a bit off one shoulder, new Nikes, and his fitted Red Sox cap. He
neatly folded his Red Sox uniform, put it away in a corner of the locker,
took his autographed ball and new glove, and wandered back under the stands
to where the big, netted lanes of the batting cages hung in the cool, dim
light. For awhile he stood in the lane he and the hitting coach had always
used and stared at the silent pitching machine sitting at the far
end. Outside, he could still hear the sounds of people leaving the
park. They were faint, excited cries of "Jack, Jack, over here!" from kids
who were still trying to get autographs. PJ wondered how long Jack would
spend signing today. Probably not too long because the team had to get to
the airport.

Suddenly, PJ was startled by a scuffing noise and movement behind him. He
turned and peered through the netting at a tall, thin figure emerging from
the corridor into the big space. The light was too dim to see the person's
face. "Hi, PJ," a man's voice said.

As he came closer, PJ recognized the sports columnist for the Associated
Press. Stepping out through the netting, PJ went to shake his hand. "How do
you do, Sir?" PJ asked politely. You're Mr. Gerstein, right?"

The elderly man smiled. "Yes, I am, young man. I guess I'm doing pretty
well after seeing that game. I won't have any trouble finding things to
write about. How 'bout yourself? Been having some fun?"

"I'm okay," PJ responded cautiously. He reminded himself that no matter how
friendly a reporter appeared to be, reporters were reporters. Their job was
to find out things.

The columnist stared at the boy thoughtfully. "You spent the past week with
Jack, didn't you," he stated.

PJ just looked at him without answering. He liked Mr. Gerstein all right,
but he didn't like being questioned about Jack.

"Are you going to Oakland with the team tonight?"

PJ shook his head. "I have to go back to school. Jack won't let me travel
with the team on the road."

Mr. Gerstein grunted in approval. "Well, he's right about that." He looked
at PJ quizzically.  "What did you say to him, PJ?" he asked finally in a
soft, kindly voice. "What did you tell Jack when you handed him that bat?"

PJ just stared at him.

"I know you said something," the elderly man insisted. "I saw you.  What
was it?"

"I told him 'anything's possible,'" PJ said at last.

The AP man nodded slowly. "I thought that's what it was." He sighed and
went on, "PJ, I've known Jack Canon for a long time. Since before he came
up to the Major Leagues. I watched him survive and come back from probably
the worst tragedies that can befall a man and not kill him. I know why he
thinks that way. But why do you, PJ? That's what I don't know."

PJ didn't answer.

 "What happened to you, PJ?" the reporter asked softly.

PJ didn't answer that either.

The man sighed again and patted him on the shoulder. "I guess it's none of
my business," he said quietly. "I don't blame you for not wanting to tell
me. I guess you think I'm pretty snoopy for even talking to you this
way. But I want you to know that I am your friend, PJ." He kept looking at
the boy intently. "I've liked you from the first time I met you at that
swim meet. Jack's right about you. You are a very special person."

He knelt down and looked into PJ's face. "I tried to find out about you,
you know," he said with a little smile. He shook his head. "That school of
yours and those lawyers in New York are like stonewalls.  They don't say
much. But I learned enough to know who owns the Red Sox and who got Jack
his contract." His expression turned serious. "You don't have to worry
about me ever saying anything about it, PJ. Believe me, I'm on your side!
And on Jack's!  You see, I guess you could say I'm kind of an 'anything's
possible' believer myself." He looked down for a moment and then raised his
eyes up to PJ's face. "You're very fond of Jack, aren't you."

PJ nodded.

"Listen to me, PJ," the old man pleaded. "It's okay to be friends with him,
but try not to get too attached. I know Jack better than anyone. Better
than you even. He's a great guy. He's nice to everyone and he especially
has a place in his heart for kids, which is a lot more than I can say for
some others in this game. But, PJ, Jack really only loves two things. The
game of baseball and his place in it. In the end, they will always be more
important to him than anything else, no matter what he might say. Don't try
to make him into something he's not. And don't try to take the place of
something that can't be replaced.  Okay? I just don't want to see you be
disappointed."

PJ looked at him without expression. He felt himself getting angry.

The AP columnist turned away and sighed. Then he got up. "Say, PJ?" he
asked in a kindly tone, "are you still gonna play baseball for your school
this spring?"

PJ nodded. "My roommate and I both made the team."

"Well, I'll have to see if I can't get to some of your games. You know,
Jack keeps telling me that all the big plays aren't all in the Big Leagues,
and the older I get, the more I think he's right."

PJ replied, but without smiling, "He tells me that, too."

The old man regarded PJ for a moment before saying, "You may see me at some
of your games, PJ. Try to remember that I'm your friend, and I like you. If
you need some help, or just someone to talk to, well, I'm around, okay? You
can always call the Associated Press in New York. They'll know where to
find me."

"Thanks," PJ told him. The columnist held out his hand and PJ took it.

"Anything's possible, PJ," the elderly man said with a smile. Then he
turned and left.

Yeah, beat it! thought PJ as he watched him go. At first, he had liked the
old man better than any of the other reporters, but now he was sure he
couldn't trust him. And he felt damned mad!  Gerstein didn't know Jack!
Not like PJ did! And he'd dared to tell PJ that he could never take his own
son's place! He didn't know that Jack had called PJ "Son!" He didn't know
fucking anything!

PJ hid in the dim, empty batting lanes until he could no longer hear any
noises from out in the stands, and then crept quietly back through the
corridors to the locker room. He didn't want to run into any more
reporters. He stuck his head in the locker room door and looked around
cautiously. There were still some players getting dressed, but he didn't
see anyone from the media. He sat in front of Jack's locker and waited,
heart pounding, still furious about his conversation with the AP
reporter. But he knew he couldn't let on to Jack that he was so upset. Jack
liked Mr. Gerstein and wouldn't understand.

When Jack emerged from the shower, he was grinning happily. "Hey, PJ," he
greeted the boy.  "What a finish for your visit, huh?"

PJ looked up, grinning as well. "We couldn't have planned it any better,
Jack."

Jack dressed quickly and asked, "Have you got all your stuff? You've got
your new glove, right?"

PJ held it up so he could see it. "I left my uniform in the corner of your
locker." He pointed it out to Jack.

"I'll take care of it when I get back," Jack told him. "Let's get you to
the airport."

They walked for the last time down the long corridor to the clubhouse
entrance. Jack put his arm around PJ's shoulders and hugged him. "Did you
have a good time, Tiger?"

"Oh yeah, Jack. You know I did." PJ looked up at him, and his gratitude was
genuine.

"Hey, that's great." Jack flashed him a big smile. "Now, the driver will
take you to the airport.  He knows what terminal to bring you to."  "Aren't
you going with me?"

"No, our team bus takes us to another terminal."

PJ was dismayed.  He hadn't realized Jack was going to say goodbye so soon!
There were still so many more things he wanted to tell him. He took the
man's hand and gripped tightly. Outside, in the fenced enclosure, Jack's
gray Lincoln was parked, waiting for them behind the big Red Sox team
bus. There were crowds of fans behind the fences,.all cheering wildly when
they caught sight of their hero.

"Jack!" PJ exclaimed in momentary panic. He was scared that Jack would walk
away from him to go talk to somebody or sign more autographs. "Jack,
please!" He tugged on Jack's sleeve. When the big ballplayer looked down at
him, PJ cried, "Jack, please e-mail me. I'll send you something almost
every day!"

"Sure, Tiger," Jack assured him. "Don't worry. I'll e-mail you. That's why
I've got that neat little computer you gave me."

"Every week," PJ begged. "Please?"

"Sure. Every week." He led PJ over to the Lincoln. The fans behind the
fences were screaming, "Jack!, Jack!, Jack!, Jack!, . . . " The noise was
almost deafening.

"Jack!" PJ shrieked. He gave a desperate yank on Jack's arm and when the
man bent down, PJ hugged him. "Good luck, Jack. I love you."

He wasn't sure if Jack could hear him with all that racket. But he thought
he did. Jack patted his back. "So long, Champ. I'll get to one of your
games." He put PJ into the back of the Lincoln and said something to the
driver. Then he stepped away and closed the door. PJ kept waving out the
back window while security guards waved the car out the enclosure gate. The
Lincoln turned onto the street, Jack was lost to view amid the crowd of
fans, and for an instant PJ felt the terror of being caught once more in a
nightmare. He'd let go of Jack's hand, and now he couldn't find him! He'd
never see Jack again!

"No," he whispered, closing his eyes tightly. He clenched his fists until
the fear passed, and afterwards endured the ride to the airport, buffeted
by confusing emotions--pride, anger, happiness, loneliness--moody ups and
downs swinging wildly back and forth in the fantastical cage of his mind.

* * *

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT SEVENTEEN

Paul K. Scott's e-mail: paulkdoctor@gmail.com