Date: Fri, 19 Jun 2015 12:48:52 -0400
From: Paul Knoke <paulkdoctor@gmail.com>
Subject: INSTALLMENT TWENTY-SIX of "THE FATHER CONTRACT"

INSTALLMENT TWENTY-SIX
from

THE FATHER CONTRACT
by

Arthur J. Arrington

Edited Paul K. Scott

Please consider making a donation to Nifty to keep our PJ's hopes alive and
well!  Remember, he needs all the help he can get to make his wish for a
father come true!

* * *

Chapter Forty-Eight: A Chicago Revisitation

As the days of summer passed, PJ's camp life fell into a pleasant
routine. He worked hard at his sports, always playing in one or two Little
League baseball games each week. On nearly every weekend, there was also a
swim meet. He won more medals which he was very proud of, and his times
kept improving. Sometimes the camp would arrange special activities or
trips to local beaches or water parks. All in all, he enjoyed himself even
more than he had the year before, meeting lots of new kids, but avoiding
getting too close to anyone. Always he tried to remain as anonymous as
possible. He never mentioned that he knew anybody named Jack Canon.

At the end of July, the local Little League season ended and so did all the
baseball. Campers who had only signed up for the baseball instruction
left. PJ now split his time between swimming and football.

From the first day in June, PJ had been pleased by how much he'd improved
in football. Although he'd played two seasons on a peewee team in Chicago,
he'd learned almost nothing about the game there except basic rules--and
how to survive in a very rough league. Camp the year before, when he was a
ten-year-old, had been his first exposure to expert coaching and serious
drilling. Since then, he'd played a full season at Gordonsville where he'd
received more good coaching, besides gaining in size and strength. This
year, the coaches had put him right into the advanced group, and he was
growing in skill and confidence every day.

He knew he'd never be a passer. Just as in baseball, he lacked the natural
ability to throw instinctively so he couldn't do the things that boys like
Erik or Charlie seemed able to do without any practice. But the parts of
the game that could be mastered by strength or repetitive drill he could
and did learn. He also enjoyed physical contact. Blocking and tackling,
things neither baseball nor swimming could offer, gave PJ a kind of release
that suited his competitiveness. The rough contact helped dissipate some of
the resentment against the world that he kept bottled up inside.

With the baseball phase over and the final weeks of camp approaching,
football practices became more intense, with emphasis shifting from
repetitive skill drills to coordinated team scrimmaging. The coaching staff
worked with PJ on a number of different positions: running back, end, and
tight end. They also played him at linebacker and defensive end in order to
give him experience in how defensive players thought and reacted. But his
primary coach told him several times, "You're not naturally a defensive
player, PJ. You're best on offense. You're disciplined, organized,
aggressive. That's the characteristics a coach wants in his offense. Your
coach at school should probably use you as a back or an end. As you get
bigger this year or next year, I bet you'll be a good tight end." PJ
listened seriously to the coach. He figured the man probably knew what he
was talking about, since he was part of the coaching staff at a university
that had won numerous national championships.

PJ related a lot of this in his e-mails to Jack. Every evening, unless he
was away on an activity trip or a swim meet, he'd sit down at the computer
he shared with the other boys in the dormitory and make up a short e-mail
for him. He wrote to Travis and Erik too, although not quite so often,
sending messages that were upbeat and funny. He kept Travis appraised of
all his times at the swim meets and told Erik about any good plays he made
in baseball or football.

PJ's messages to Jack were usually a lot more personal, often touching on
the personalities of boys and coaches he was working with: about boys who
showed poise and sportsmanship in tough situations, coaches who screamed,
kids who achieved or failed, describing their reactions. PJ often thought
of Skip, his shy friend from Riverside Heights Prep in New York City, who'd
made such a nice bunt to get on base after practicing so hard to learn how
to do it. He asked Jack several times if he'd sent the boy the encouraging
note and baseball card PJ'd asked him to send, but Jack never answered him
in any of his responses.

And PJ lived for those responses. The very first thing he did when he came
back to his camp dormitory every evening was check his online mail. Any day
he got a message from Jack was a good day no matter what else had
happened. He still valued his friendship with Jack above all other things
in his life. Jack was the sheet anchor of his existence. If PJ often felt a
lingering sadness that he and Jack would never have the kind of closeness
that Erik or Billy enjoyed with their dads, it didn't change his constant
hunger for Jack's affection and attention. PJ devoured Jack's weekly
e-mails, seeing in them the proof of Jack's commitment. He was always
trying to do things that he thought would win Jack's approval.

Yet as the month of July went by, PJ couldn't help noticing that Jack's
messages, never very personal, became even less so. They also got shorter
and shorter. PJ put this down to the increasing intensity of the Division
race between the Red Sox and the Yankees. His own schedule was so busy, he
couldn't watch the Red Sox regularly on TV; and when he did get to see a
game, it was usually on a Sunday. He knew that the Sox were maintaining a
precarious lead in their Division, winning most of the time in the games he
was able to watch--and Jack seemed to be playing fairly well. But in
August, when PJ was concentrating on football and the last big regional
swim meet, ominous rumors began to circulate. It was said that the Red Sox
lead in their Division was slipping, that Jack was in a second-half
slump. His personal lead in the scramble for the American League batting
title was eroding. And when PJ watched a game that weekend, Jack went 0 for
4 at the plate. PJ tried to be as upbeat as he could in his e-mail to Jack
that night. He told him about a nice pass reception he'd made in practice.

"I had this big kid covering me," he typed, "and I could not get open.  A
few times the QB threw to me and the kid would bat the ball away and knock
me on my but.  It was discouraging, but I remembered what you always told
me.  If you lose, don't show your disappointment, just be a good sport, get
back up and keep trying.  Never give up.  So, like I kept trying to use the
things my coaches have taught me and finally I got open!  We have a QB who
is almost as good a passer as Erik. He threw a nice pass to me and I went
for 20 more yards.  Pretty good!  I think you would have liked it if you
could have seen it.  I will never give up trying, because you told me
that's the way to do it.  The sports commentaters say you are in a slump,
but I know you won't give up either.  Your friend, PJ."

Jack's e-mail response that week was his shortest yet. Basically, he said
nothing.

A tight race with the Yankees, Jack's slump--it was all coming at the worst
possible time for PJ. His camp would be over soon and he desperately wanted
to spend some time with Jack before going back to school. The camp schedule
was arranged so that its activities ended about halfway through August
since most kids attending spent the remaining few weeks before school on
vacation with their parents. The previous year, that hadn't been an option
for PJ, and because he couldn't go to Gordonsville until the school opened,
he'd spent that time at a music camp in western Massachusetts working with
his violin. He hadn't minded. The music camp had been infinitely better
than the military school in the Catskills where he'd been sent the summer
before that, doing intensive remedial work in English and math (none of
which he needed), a regime supposed to get him prepped for Gordonsville's
tough academics. That had been a very unpleasant experience. The other
boys, dull students who hated the place, spent most of their free time
trying to smoke joints in the bathroom. The school atmosphere had been
boring and oppressive. PJ had been terrified that Gordonsville would be
more of the same, so when he discovered that his new school actually
featured a beautiful campus full of nice kids and masters who cared about
teaching, it'd been an enormous relief to him.

In any event, PJ had no desire to attend music camp again. His plan this
year was to spend as much time with Jack as he could, and then go visit
Travis and Erik. After having a blast with his friends, he and Erik would
go up to Gordonsville together where they would report a week early for
Middle School football camp.

It was a great plan, but PJ ran into a snag when he tried to sell it to
Jack. The Red Sox were scheduled for a long road trip in the middle of
August, and Jack was adamant that a baseball team traveling and staying in
strange hotel rooms was no place for a kid PJ's age. PJ tried arguing that
he was almost as old as the batboys that traveled with the team (this was
untrue, and PJ knew it; the batboys were all fifteen years or older). He
also pointed out that some of the players had their wives and children
along. He finished his message by pleading:

"Please Jack, let me come.  I will only be there for a few days [PJ was
actually planning to make it six] and I promise I will stay out of the way.
I just want to have a chance to see you and talk to you before going back
to school.  I have a lot of things to tell you I know you will be intrested
in. After I am back in school and you and the Red Sox make the playoffs it
may be a while until I see you again.  Please let me come.  I can cheer for
you and you will play better.  Erik always plays better when I cheer for
him.  Please say yes.  Your friend, PJ."

PJ, possibly because he knew he was being devious, didn't even bother to
use his Spell-check.

Jack never actually responded to this message. The Red Sox lost seven games
in a row, dropping their lead over the Yankees to one game, and his e-mail
to PJ that week was again very short. PJ decided to take this lack of a
definite "no" as a "yes" and proceeded accordingly. Talking to Walter and
Ms. Snyder by phone, he set up travel arrangements. "We'll get you a
charter from Gainesville to Orlando," Pam Snyder told him. "Then you can go
commercial from there to Chicago. You'll have to change flights in Atlanta,
PJ. Will you be able to handle that?"

"That's okay," PJ confidently answered. He'd never done that, but he was
ready to try. How tough could it be? "What do I do when I get to Chicago?"

"Won't Jack have someone meet you?"  Ms. Snyder asked.

"Oh, that's right," PJ answered quickly. "He'll take care of that."

"All right, PJ."  Ms. Snyder's voice over the phone sounded crisp and
officious. "Have a nice time. Your tickets will be waiting for you at the
charter service in Gainesville. Call us if you run into any problems. I
have to answer this other call."

"Okay, thanks," PJ started to say, but she'd already hung up.

PJ sent an e-mail to Jack with his travel plans, asking him to have someone
meet him at the airport.

"Please, Jack, don't be mad at me," PJ typed.  "I promise I will not bug
you about staying a long time. I will not be any trouble and I will stay
out of the way.  I just want to see you for a while.  I know we will have
fun together.  We always do remember?  I hope you are playing better, but
if your not, don't worry.  You will once I'm there to cheer for you.  I
can't wait to see you.  Don't be mad.  Your friend, PJ."

For the entire last week of camp PJ was in an agony of suspense that he
would find a blistering message from Jack on the computer, forbidding him
to come.  Nothing arrived. No message at all. He worked hard on his
football and was awarded a little trophy for best overall performance. In
swimming, he got a medal when the medley relay team he was on placed third
in the big regional meet. He packed these treasures carefully into his bag,
along with three other medals he'd won so he could show them to Jack. On
Friday morning, he rode in a camp van with ten other kids to the
Gainesville airport. There, they boarded a twin-engine turboprop commuter
plane, which flew them to Orlando. PJ was given a folder with his tickets
for Chicago and sent to a gate where a very nice young lady checked him in
for his flight. She asked if he was traveling alone. When PJ said he was,
she made a note by his name. "We'll have someone meet you at Atlanta to
help you change flights," she told him. "That's a big airport. Everyone
gets confused by it. It helps if there's someone to get you to the right
place."

PJ thanked her and sat, waiting for his flight, feeling happier. He was
almost twelve, he did not want to be treated like a baby, but he'd been
apprehensive about that changeover he was going to have to make.

His flight to Atlanta turned out to be pleasant. Ms. Snyder had booked him
as a first-class passenger, so in addition to a big, comfortable seat all
to himself, PJ got served a breakfast treat of Danish pastries with
milk. When they arrived at Atlanta, one of the flight attendants personally
escorted him off the plane and turned him over to a young ticket agent, who
took charge, guiding PJ through the huge Atlanta complex, which was just as
bewildering as the girl in Gainesville had said it would be. When they
reached the correct gate for his next flight, PJ shook the young man's
hand, thanking him politely. "I don't think I could have found that on my
own, Sir."

"Hey, don't feel bad," the agent said, grinning. "I've been here three
years next month, and I still get lost sometimes. Have a good flight."

The airline PJ was taking to Chicago didn't seem as interested in him. The
lady who accepted PJ's ticket inquired if he had any baggage, but she
didn't ask if he was traveling alone. She just stamped everything and gave
him a gate pass. The flight was crowded. PJ was still booked in first
class, so he had a nice seat, but all the other seats were filled, and
there was no meal service. Instead, the stewardess brought around cans of
soda along with little bags of peanuts, which PJ didn't eat. Getting a book
from his bag (his favorite, Safe at Home), PJ read during most of his
flight.

PJ had only been to Chicago O'Hare Airport a few times in his life and
didn't remember much. Nothing looked familiar when he came out of the
jetway, emerging into the passenger lounge. He looked around anxiously, but
didn't see anyone he recognized. Unsure what to do, and not seeing anyone
he could ask, he sat down to wait, reasoning that someone would probably be
along looking for him. He watched all the other passengers get off and
disappear down the long central walkway that stretched past the other gates
into the distance. Soon he was sitting completely by himself. This is no
good, he thought. After waiting a bit longer, until he was sure no one was
coming, he decided he should get up and go somewhere. But then he was
afraid to move away from the gate. How would anyone know where to find him
if he was wandering around the airport?

Finally, he took his bag and got up. It was clear no one was coming to meet
him. He couldn't just sit there. He would have to move. Walking slowly down
the wide carpeted walkway, PJ went past gate after gate, some filled with
people waiting for their flights, others completely empty. He noticed that
the gate numbers were decreasing. At last, there was a sharp turn that led
past a security checkpoint. PJ went through a bank of doors that led out
into an enormous space full of light, noise, and crowds of people. Having
no idea where he was, he began to feel a little panicky. He looked around
for a policeman or a security guard whom he could ask for directions. If he
could find a taxi that would take him to Comiskey Park, he knew that Jack
would be there somewhere. If he could just get to Jack, everything would be
all right! Jack would take care of him.

"Well, it's about time!  I was starting to think you weren't on the plane!"

PJ realized that someone was speaking to him. He whirled around! A big man
wearing dark glasses and a sports jacket was standing a few steps away. He
wasn't smiling, but just staring in his direction.

"Jack!" PJ cried. He ran over and threw himself at the man, hugging him
around the waist.

"Hey, take it easy, Little Champ." With only one arm, Jack squeezed PJ in a
return hug. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

PJ clung very tight to Jack for a few moments, then let go, brushing at his
eyes. "I'm all right, Jack. It's just that at first I didn't think there
was anyone to meet me."

"This is as close as they let people get to the gates." Jack indicated the
security guard beyond the doors. "If you hadn't come out soon I was gonna
get some people to look for you."

PJ stared at the security checkpoint with all its signs. He hadn't
known. There was nothing like that when he arrived on charter flights. "I'm
sorry, Jack. I just didn't know."

Picking up PJ's bag, Jack put a hand on the boy's shoulder and led him away
through the terminal. "Kind of slumming it, aren't you, PJ? Flying
commercial like this? What happened to the private jet?"

PJ looked up nervously. Whenever Jack was sarcastic, it usually meant he
was mad about something. Reaching up, he took Jack's hand. "These are just
the tickets Walter got for me. I had to change planes at Atlanta."

Jack laughed. "Sometimes I think the whole world changes at Atlanta." PJ
had no idea what he meant.

Outside, a silver-gray Cadillac limousine was parked at the curb. A
uniformed driver standing next to it nodded when he saw Jack, opened the
rear door, and Jack waved for PJ to get in. Soon, the driver had them
weaving through traffic, downtown Chicago's tall buildings filling the
skyline in front of them. PJ recognized the view from his time living in
the city years before, and the sight made him vaguely uncomfortable. He
didn't know why. He reached for Jack's hand again, but after a sharp glance
at the boy, Jack pulled it away. "PJ, are you all right? What's wrong?"

PJ looked up at him in dismay. "I'm okay.  It's just . . . I don't
know. I'm fine."

"Look, PJ," Jack said firmly. "You bugged me and bugged me about coming
here. Well, now you're here, so you'd better be in a good mood. This was
your idea."

"Yes, Jack. I'm really in a great mood. I'm fine." DON'T act weird! PJ
frantically told himself. The last thing he wanted was for Jack to think he
was weird! After a little while, he asked cautiously, "Where are we going?"

"New Comiskey Park. And that reminds me. . ."  Jack dug into a pocket and
handed PJ a hotel room key. "That's for the room we're staying in. Now,
hang onto it and don't lose it. I'm gonna drop you off with one of the team
wives. She'll show you where to sit for the game tonight. Make sure she
knows where you are all the time! Understand?"

PJ nodded solemnly, not taking his eyes off Jack. "I promise I won't be any
trouble."

"Yeah. Well, stay close to her.  And the other wives and kids, okay? Now,
have you had lunch?"

When PJ shook his head, Jack dug out his wallet to hand over a ten-dollar
bill. PJ noticed that the picture he had given Jack was still there in the
plastic cardholder. "Get something to eat," Jack told him. "The people I
leave you with will see that you get dinner. And try to be inconspicuous,
Tiger. There have been reporters sniffing around ever since that All-Star
game when I got you on TV."

"It worked, Jack," PJ told him eagerly. "Erik and Travis both saw me when
you talked to me."

"Yeah. It worked a little too well. Those reporters all wanted to ask about
you."

PJ bit his lip, afraid to say anything more since Jack was in such an
irritable mood. Probably we can talk later, he thought.

"Jack?" he finally ventured, very hesitantly. "Jack? Thanks for coming to
pick me up. I'm really glad to see you."

"Okay, kid," Jack patted his shoulder. "I know. You're here. Let's make the
best of it."

They rode in silence the rest of the way to the stadium.

After the limousine dropped them off at the entrance to the visitor's
clubhouse, Jack took PJ in, led him through several tunnels, then out of
the dugout onto the field. The park was beautiful. PJ had seen it before on
TV, but it was even better in real life. He marveled at the magnificent
scoreboard modeled after the original one in the old park. A group of young
women were sitting in the stands nearby, and Jack took PJ over to introduce
him to one he called Janice. She seemed a little older than the others,
smiled at PJ, and said, "You can sit here with us. After the game, we'll
get you back to the hotel. Don't worry, Jack. We'll keep an eye on him."

"Thanks, Janice. I hate to put this on you. You know I appreciate it."

"No problem. You have enough to worry about. Just tell that husband of mine
to either get some hits tonight or else he shouldn't bother coming back to
the hotel."

Jack laughed. "I will. PJ, I've got your bag. I'll keep it in my locker and
bring it to the hotel tonight. Is there anything you need right now?" PJ
shook his head. "Okay. Do whatever Janice tells you." With that final
admonition, Jack walked back to the dugout and disappeared inside.

"PJ," Janice said, "Jack says you're a very responsible boy. If you want to
wander around for awhile, go ahead. All I ask is that you let me know where
you are. And during the game tonight, I'd like you to stay here with us. We
all have to leave together when we go to the hotel and I don't want you
getting lost, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am." PJ was determined to be polite and cooperative. He didn't
want Jack having any reason to be angry with him. He explained about
wanting to buy lunch, showing Janice the money Jack had given him, and the
woman laughed, exclaiming, "Honestly! That man! He doesn't know
anything. Come on, honey." She took his arm. "You don't have to buy your
lunch. We get free food from the White Sox. I'll show you." Guiding PJ up
to the club level, Janice escorted him into a big room with a long table
full of sandwiches, chips, soup, soda, and fruit. After being told to help
himself, PJ ate hungrily, and Janice left him with a reminder about
checking in with her from time to time. "I'll either be in our seats by the
dugout or up here," she said.

Once he had scarfed down a few turkey and swiss sandwiches, along with
chips and a cup of vegetable soup, PJ wrapped an apple in a napkin for a
snack later and went out to explore. There were hours to go before game
time, but he wasn't worried about keeping himself busy. He had a lot of
experience amusing himself. He decided it was time for Erik to make an
imaginary visit.

He took his roommate on an expedition around the stadium. In between their
explorations of the various sections, PJ and the phantom Erik passed some
time watching the grounds crew work their manicuring magic, and later, when
various groups of players came out on the field, it was an opportunity to
study their various drills and warm-up routines. At one point, PJ was
surprised to see Jack taking a half-hour of batting practice. He and Erik
decided it was because Jack was working out of his slump. Finally, Erik
said he had to go home, so PJ stopped imagining him.

 He wandered alone back to the dugout area where Janice was sitting,
talking to some other women. Tired from all his traveling that day, he
dozed in a seat next to her, waking later when everyone began to get up. He
followed them to the club level, finding that attendants had put out
another big spread of food. There were hot plates of ham and turkey
accompanied by dishes of vegetables. A big steamship round of roast beef
was at one end of the table along with a chef in a white hat to cut and
serve it. PJ took a plate of the roast beef, a favorite of his, going light
on the vegetables to make more room for the pie and ice cream offered for
dessert.

Back down in their seats by the field, he settled next to Janice, watching
the teams warm up. He noticed there was none of the usual cheering when
Jack came out on the field to get loose, no surprise considering that they
were in "enemy" territory, even though he was accustomed to seeing Jack
applauded no matter where he went. The big meal had left PJ sleepy, so he
lacked his usual pre-game excitement, and the game itself didn't keep his
attention either. As his eyes grew heavy, it turned into a low-scoring
pitcher's duel with very few hits by either side, so he ended up sleeping
through most of one inning. He came awake for Jack's at-bat and watched him
get a single, only to end up stranded when the next hitter popped up for
the third out. After that, he dozed on and off, waking in the ninth inning
with the Red Sox up by a run. The White Sox got some men on base,
threatening to score, but the Red Sox closer managed to keep the lid on
long enough to get three outs and win the game.

PJ was practically sleepwalking when Janice led him through the crowded
stadium to a van that dropped them at the hotel. PJ used the key Jack had
given him to get into his room, finding that it was a nice comfortable one
with two double beds, a big TV, and a bathroom that had its own Jacuzzi.

PJ looked at the two beds, unsure what to do. Jack hadn't told him if he
was still sharing a room with Jim Wagoneer. Assuming that he was, and that
Jack would use one bed and Jim the other, PJ got a bunch of towels out of
the bathroom to make a nest for himself in the corner of the room behind
the writing desk. Jack had his bag so he couldn't brush his teeth or get
into his pajamas. He took off everything except his big, loose tee-shirt,
wrapped a towel around his middle, and turned out all the lights except the
desk lamp. He was very tired. He'd hoped to stay up until Jack came so he
could talk with him, but he just couldn't keep his eyes open. He curled up
in his nest of towels on the floor and was almost instantly asleep.

PJ's dreams that night were very confused. He woke with only a vague memory
of them, finding himself in a bed under the covers. After feeling around in
a panic to be sure everything was dry, he stared in bewilderment before
remembering where he was. The towel he'd put around himself was gone, but
he was still wearing the loose shirt, which had bunched up on his shoulders
during the night. He looked over at the other bed. It'd been slept in and
the covers were all thrown back. PJ heard the sound of the shower going in
the bathroom. His bag was sitting on the desk. PJ slid out from under the
covers, pulled on clean underwear from the bag, and got dressed in the same
clothes he'd worn the day before.' He was waiting, dressed in his colorful
tee-shirt and satin shorts, when Jack came out of the bathroom, one big
towel around his waist while he dried his hair with another.

"I see you found your bag." Jack opened the closet opposite the bathroom to
get some clothes out. "PJ, what is it with you? Every time I turn around I
find you sleeping on the floor. You don't like beds or something? Where
have you been sleeping at that camp of yours? Out in the woods somewhere?"

"I-I . . ." PJ stammered, unsure what to say. Jack seemed to be in an even
worse mood than the day before. "I t-thought you might be rooming with
Jim."

Frowning, giving him impatient glances, Jack pulled on some clothes, and
sat on the bed to put on his shoes. "I kicked Jim out when you told me you
were coming. I thought about getting you a room by yourself. The team would
probably have gone for it. Nothing's too good for the club owner, you
know. But wouldn't that have been just dandy! You, running around here
unsupervised! I thought that might be going too far."

PJ dropped his eyes and didn't say anything. Jack was in a bad mood all
right! He's mad at me for coming. It'll be better after I've been here a
few days and he sees that I'm not a bother. He decided against unpacking
his little trophy and medals so he could show them to Jack. It didn't seem
to be the right time.

On the way down to breakfast, Jack told him, "I'm leaving you with
Janice. She's got something planned for the wives and kids. A trip to the
zoo or something. She'll bring you over to the stadium this afternoon
sometime."

"All right, Jack." PJ was terribly disappointed, but he tried to sound
cheerful and obedient. He'd hoped that Jack would ask him to work out that
morning, or at least let him go wherever he was going. PJ wouldn't have
cared what they did as long as he was with him. The idea of spending the
day with some women and little kids at the zoo didn't appeal at all, but he
didn't dare complain. Hiding his disappointment, he resigned himself to
doing what Jack wanted.

The day at the zoo was difficult for PJ. He'd been taken to the zoo several
times while he lived in Chicago,at the place with the nice old lady and her
room full of toys. Now its sights, smells, and sounds all too vividly
brought back unpleasant memories of that time. To distract himself, he
tried to focus on nicer things, reminding himself that the zoo was full of
interesting animals, that there was neat stuff to see, and that he was with
nice friendly people. In their group, PJ was the oldest child by far, so he
took it upon himself to help look after the younger ones, acting as
unofficial tour guide. Since he knew a lot about animals, he found
distraction in explaining things to the little ones. It turned out to be
almost as enjoyable as teaching Billy how to hit. One little boy of about
four, named Devin, became very attached to PJ. Devin was afraid of the
lions until PJ took his hand and led him up close to see them. Then in the
petting zoo, Devin insisted on PJ holding his hand while he cautiously
stroked the tame baby lambs. At lunchtime, the little boy sat right next to
him, looking up solemnly with big eyes while they ate. This was enough to
get PJ through the day. But he was still glad when it was time to leave for
Comiskey Park.

When they reached the stadium, PJ headed right to the club level to see if
there was any food, but it was too early and nothing had been put out for
dinner yet.  Instead of hanging around waiting, he wandered off to kill
time by watching the different groups of players working out on the
field. He was leaning on the railing by the first-base dugout pretending to
talk to Travis about everything going on, when suddenly a voice behind him
said, "It's a bad sign when you start talking to yourself, kid."

PJ whirled around! Three men were standing behind him. He vaguely
remembered two. The one on the left put a hand out, smiling in a friendly
way. "Sorry if I startled you. I'm from the Long Island Daily Press. I met
you at your swim meet in New York last spring."

Reporters! PJ tried to think what to do. What would Jack do? Forcing a
smile, he shook the offered hand, saying, "I remember. It's nice to see you
again." Then he turned to one of the other men. "I think I met you, too."

"Daily News," the reporter said, shaking with PJ. "You have a good memory."

The third man also put out a hand. "Sports Illustrated."

"That's a great magazine!"

All three reporters chuckled. "I'm glad somebody thinks so," the SI man
said, eyes twinkling as PJ shook with him.  "So, what's up, PJ?" the
reporter from The Long Island Press asked. "Where you been hiding?"

"I've been at camp for the summer." PJ continued to smile, telling himself,
Look happy! Look relaxed! His heart was pounding.

"A baseball camp?" This came from The Daily News reporter.

"Nope." PJ shook his head. "Football mostly. Baseball season ended for me
last June. I gotta report for my school's football camp in another
week. But our baseball team made the tournament this year! Just like I told
you it would! You guys shoulda come to some of our games."

"Maybe we should have," the Daily News man said, nodding back. "We heard
some rumors about one of them." He looked at PJ expectantly, but PJ just
returned a blank, polite smile.

"So, what brings you to Chicago, PJ?" It was the Sports Illustrated
reporter. The Long Island Press man joined in by asking, "You here to see
Jack?"

"Sure," PJ told them. "My camp just ended and this is my only chance to see
him. I'll be in school, playing football. The Red Sox will be busy
finishing the season. Then they'll be doing the playoffs. It'll be awhile
before we can visit again."

The Daily News reporter stared at him. "Are the Red Sox gonna make the
playoffs, PJ?"

"Course they are," PJ said with conviction.

"Even if Jack doesn't come out of his slump?"

"Jack'll be okay," PJ told him. "Besides, the Red Sox are a team. They
don't depend on just one guy. They're all good. And they stick
together. Jack says that's the important thing. And he's right, too!"

The reporters exchanged amused glances with each other. "Jack tell you to
say that?" asked the Long Island Press man.

PJ looked back at him and remained silent.

"So what's the deal, PJ?" It was The Daily News reporter again. "You gonna
bring Jack out of his slump by touching his bat? The way you did at the
All-Star game?"

PJ kept his expression blank. Don't say anything! Don't say anything!

"Come on, PJ," the man from Sports Illustrated coaxed. "We all saw it."

"Yeah, PJ." It was The Long Island Press reporter. "We know you were
there."

But looking at their faces, PJ could see they did not know that for
sure. Don't tell them anything! He played dumb. "I've been at camp all
summer."

There was a long pause. The Daily News reporter finally said, "If that's
the way you want it." He turned away and the other reporters followed him
up the aisle between the seats. PJ watched for a few seconds to be sure
they were leaving, and after that pretended to be looking at the action on
the field until his heart rate returned to normal. The reporters all seemed
like nice guys, but he hated it when they asked questions! He didn't want
them finding out things, putting them in the paper. After checking several
more times to be certain the coast was clear, he made his way slowly back
to the third-base side of the field, trying to remain as inconspicuous as
possible, mingling with the fans that were entering the stadium. Once he
got to where Janice and the team wives were sitting, he remained with them
until they all went to dinner.

The game that night was more exciting than the one the night before, and PJ
was awake for most of it. The score seesawed back and forth as each team
briefly got an advantage. PJ thought Jack was playing pretty well. He got a
double, scoring in the fourth inning, and made a good catch in right field
to end the seventh inning.

When The Red Sox came into the top of the ninth down by a run, PJ, Janice,
the rest of the wives, and all the other Red Sox fans in the stadium were
cheering for their team to get some hits. At first it looked hopeful. The
Sox got a man on base with one out, then a well-executed hit-and-run put
the batter on first with the runner going to third! Now the heavy hitters
were due up. PJ was sure at least one run would score. With Jack on deck in
the number-four slot, the number-three hitter for the Red Sox stepped
in. "Let's get one," PJ yelled. The Red Sox batter worked the count to 2-2,
but their fans in the stadium groaned as he took a called strike three on
the outside corner. Jack came to the plate with two outs.

"You can do it, Jack!" PJ shouted along with thousands of others. Noise
filled the stadium; the Red Sox faithful cheering for Jack, the White Sox
fans encouraging their pitcher. A round of boos came from the home crowd as
the first pitch to Jack was called a ball. Then cheers came again when Jack
fouled off two curveballs, making the count 1-2. The White Sox closer
wasted a pitch outside, hoping to get a bite, but Jack checked his swing
and the count was 2-2. Everyone came to their feet as noise in the stadium
went to a deafening level. Red Sox fans were chanting, "Jack . . . Jack
. . . Jack . . ."

The pitcher juggled his rosin bag a few times before resuming his place on
the rubber. Looking in with a scowl at his catcher, he shook off the sign
twice, finally nodding. Then, rearing back with a high leg kick, he threw
his heater. Jack swung . . . but his bat met nothing but air. The umpire
lifted his arm, bellowing, "Strike three! Yer' out!"

Comiskey Park rocked to the sound of celebrating White Sox fans, while Jack
walked back to the dugout, his face without expression. Boos sounded from
different parts of the park. "That's okay, Jack," PJ yelled. "You'll get
'em next game!" But his young voice was lost in the noise.

Janice shook her head. "He's been having all kinds of trouble at the plate
lately." She and the other wives gathered up their belongings, and with PJ
following, made their way out of the stands. As they were walking through
the tunnels to their van, PJ was thinking how unfair baseball fans could
be. A month before, the same ones booing Jack now had been cheering him,
begging for his autograph. Jack hasn't changed any. He's still the same
terrific guy. He still stands for all the great things he's always stood
for. It's just that Major League pitchers are good, too!

No one knew better than PJ how tough it was to hit a baseball. Did they
think Jack wasn't trying? How could they possibly think that? PJ knew Jack
would never give anything less than his best effort in a game. Surely the
fans ought to know that. And yet some had booed him. They oughta be tryin'
to encourage him, not give up on him! PJ was thinking as the van dropped
them at their hotel. He knew with absolute certainty that nothing could
ever make him stop believing in Jack Canon.

After letting himself into the room with his key, PJ went right into the
bathroom to wash up. By splashing cold water on his face, he was determined
to stay awake. Jack says if you strike out, or miss a fly ball, you smile,
go on, and just try to do better next time. Jack knows what to do. But, it
won't hurt for him to see a friendly face and maybe hear some encouragement
when he comes in.

Although desperately tired, PJ didn't get into bed once he'd changed into
his pajamas. He knew that if his head touched the pillow, he'd be
gone. Instead, he turned down Jack's bed so it'd be all ready for him, and
walked around the room, working at keeping himself awake. But his eyelids
felt as heavy as lead. In the bathroom, he threw more cold water on his
face, then stumbled back to the room, pacing over and back across the
floor. More than anything in the world he wanted to crawl under his nice,
warm, comfortable blanket, but he kept himself moving. Gotta be awake for
Jack when he comes in. To keep his eyes open, he tried to think of all the
times Jack had encouraged him when he had been discouraged. He thought of
how patient Jack had been when he had coached him in wall ball. And how
Jack hadn't allowed him to give in to despair when he'd failed to win a
medal at the Swimming Championships. Jack never stopped believing in him if
he lost. Jack loved him for trying. Jack was always proud of him. PJ was
always his "Little Champ."

PJ felt exactly the same about Jack. Win or lose, he was always PJ's
hero. PJ was sure Jack would never let himself get discouraged, but he was
also sure it wouldn't hurt for Jack to hear that PJ loved him and believed
in him. And maybe he needs to hear that, PJ thought. Maybe even Jack has to
hear that once in awhile.

PJ's head was swimming with fatigue, his eyes closing even while he was
pacing. He was weaving and stumbling. Just stay awake, he told himself
desperately. Jack will be along soon. It can't be much longer. He
visualized how it would be.

Jack would come in, a little tired and down because he'd struck out. Maybe
even a little mad. He'll wanna know why I'm not in bed yet. And I'll tell
him, "I stayed up to see you, Jack. I just wanted you to know that it
doesn't matter if you hit a home run or strike out. I still love you and
I'll never stop believing in you. I know you'll do better. Maybe tomorrow
or the day after that. You'll never say die! No matter what, I'll always
think you're the greatest." Then Jack's gonna feel better. He'll give me a
big hug. "Thanks, Son. I knew I could count on you." Then I'll show him my
football trophy and the medals. "Look, Dad. You taught me to always try
hard and never give up, and see what I won." And Jack'll be so proud. . .

PJ's eyes snapped open. He'd been asleep on his feet! This wasn't gonna
work. He had to find a way to stay awake. Maybe if he played a video game
it might keep him alert enough so he could keep his eyes open.

He turned on the TV, got out the game controller, and switched to the video
game channel, selecting the baseball game. With the game on the hardest
setting, he started play against the computer. The game was very
realistic. Even the crowd noises were convincing.

PJ pretended that Jack was up. He grinned at PJ before he stepped into the
batter's box. PJ could tell he was confident. He knew that PJ believed in
him. PJ was sure Jack would get a hit this time. The crowd was roaring,
chanting Jack's name. "Come on, Jack! Belt one!" PJ shouted. His heart
swelled with pride. He had the greatest dad in the world! He knew Jack had
heard him because he turned to give him another quick grin.

"PJ!" Jack said. "What the heck are you doing sleeping on the floor again?
I thought I told you not to do that!"

With a start, PJ came awake, his heart pounding. He looked up. "Jack!" The
big man was standing at the foot of the bed staring down at him, looking
very annoyed.

PJ scrambled sleepily to his feet, feeling disoriented. "Jack, I was trying
to stay . . ." But Jack interrupted him.

"Have you got any idea what time it is? Turn that TV off and get your butt
into bed! Geez, PJ, why can't you just once act like a normal kid."

Cringing, PJ whispered, "I'm sorry, Jack." He scurried over to his bed, got
under the covers, and stared, wide-eyed, as Jack angrily switched off the
TV, pushing the game controller out of the way with his foot.

After waiting for a few minutes until Jack had calmed down a bit and was
getting ready for bed, PJ asked hesitantly, "Jack?"

The man looked at him in exasperation. "Listen, kid, I thought I told you
to stay around Janice and be inconspicuous. Is that too much to ask? Why
did you go wandering around talking to a bunch of reporters?"

PJ stared at him in dismay. "But, I. . ."

"Don't try to tell me you didn't PJ. They were all over me like flies on
shit tonight bugging me about you. Asking questions. I got enough to
contend with right now. I don't need that."

"I was just watching batting practice," PJ said timidly. "They came up
behind me. I didn't know . . ."

"Well they sure as hell know you're here now," Jack snapped at him,
throwing clothes on a chair. He disappeared into the bathroom.

PJ buried his face in his pillow, squeezing his eyes tightly to hold back
the tears. His shoulders heaved. This is all my fault! Why couldn't I have
stayed awake? Why did I have to be asleep on the floor when Jack came in?
He knew Jack didn't like that. With a desperate effort he got control of
himself. Jack doesn't want to find me crying! He rubbed his eyes and sat up
on the edge of his bed.

When Jack walked out of the bathroom, he turned out all the lights. In the
sudden darkness, PJ's stomach knotted. "Jack," he said in a little shaky
voice, "Jack, could we please leave one on?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jack muttered impatiently. "I forgot." He switched on the
desk lamp.

"I'm sorry, Jack." PJ felt miserable.

"All right, PJ." Heaving a deep sigh, Jack climbed into bed, then said more
calmly. "I know you can't help it."

In the near darkness, PJ lay still, listening to the pounding of his heart
while he gathered his nerve. "Jack," he finally said, "I was just trying to
stay awake so I could tell you something."

Jack sighed again. "What, PJ?"

"Jack, it doesn't matter to me if you strike out. I still think you're the
greatest. I know you'll do better next time."

There was silence for a few moments. "All right, PJ," Jack responded at
last. "All right. I appreciate it. Now go to sleep. It's late. And do me a
favor. Tomorrow, at the stadium? You stay with Janice. Just stay out of the
way. It's a day game. There'll be a million kids there. Just blend in,
okay? Just be a regular, normal kid for a change. Stay out of trouble."

"Yes, Jack," PJ said in a small voice.

"Now, go to sleep," Jack told him. He turned away from PJ and closed his
eyes.

PJ rolled over, pretending to go to sleep as well, trying to stay as still
as he could so he wouldn't disturb Jack. He felt horrible. He had failed
Jack completely! Jack went to all this trouble to fix it so I could see
him. He even gave in on his rule about me not visiting on away games. And
how do I repay him? By sleeping on the floor and acting weird! By wandering
around when I shouldn't, causing trouble with reporters. And when Jack
needs some help and encouragement, I can't even do a simple thing like stay
awake. Next to Erik, Jack's my very best friend in all the world and I
couldn't even stay awake to help him out! Instead, I had to fall asleep on
the floor and make him mad.

PJ clenched his fists, squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he could, but
the hot tears welled out and spilled onto his sheets anyway. He pulled the
covers over his head, stifling his sobs in his pillow, terrified that Jack
would hear him. Why did everything have to keep going wrong? His parents
had hated him because he was such a stupid, weird little kid. And now Jack
was going to hate him, too. And he was trying so hard to be good! What was
wrong with him?

He sobbed again into his pillow, pressing his face against it to keep from
making noise. Then he was struck by another horrible thought. Now, as soon
as he went to sleep, he would probably have a nightmare and wake Jack
up. That would be another thing for Jack to be mad about. Who could like a
kid that made so much trouble? He didn't blame Jack for being upset. PJ lay
in his bed for a long time trying to be quiet, terrified of falling
asleep. But despite his efforts to stay awake, his eyes kept closing. Then
he would wake again with a start, each time praying that it was morning.

Finally, he fell into an exhausted deep sleep a few hours before dawn. He
didn't dream. He was too crushed in both body and spirit to suffer so much
as a nightmare.  Chapter Forty-Nine: The Outcast

When PJ awoke again, sunshine was streaming in through the windows. Jack's
bed was empty and the shower in the bathroom was running. He felt terrible,
tired and with a headache, but even so, he pushed the covers back and
quickly reached for his clothes. No way did he want Jack coming out to find
him unprepared to go to breakfast or anywhere else. Holding Jack up or
making him late was sure to get him angry again! So when Jack finally
emerged from the bathroom, PJ had made his bed and was sitting on it,
dressed and ready to go.

"Geez, PJ!" Jack gave him an annoyed glare. "Isn't it about time you took a
shower? You haven't had one since you've been here. Get your butt in there
and grab some soap!"

Frantically, PJ dug a fresh shirt out of his duffle bag, hurried into the
bathroom, stripped, and showered as fast as he could. After pulling his
clothes back on, telling himself that he hadn't taken very long, he
returned to the bedroom, only to find Jack standing impatiently at the
apartment's front door.

"We don't have all day, PJ," he commented, leading the way out to the
elevators.

Since it was Jack who'd ordered him to shower, PJ felt confused and hurt,
but he didn't dare say a word. Despite the headache and a stomach which was
now tied up in knots, he did his very best to eat the full breakfast Jack
ordered for him, managing somehow to get most of the food down, though it
felt like it was all coming back up any moment. Desperately he prayed it
wouldn't. He even tried to smile.

Jack said almost nothing while they ate. Afterwards, as they left for the
stadium, Jack told him, "I want you to watch for Janice. When she comes,
you stay with her. Don't go wandering around. And try to stay out of
trouble today."

"Yes Jack," PJ promised. He waited a few moments before saying, "Jack?"

The man looked at him.

"Jack, I hope you do good today. You know I'll be cheering for you."

"Yeah, okay, PJ. Thanks. I hope it's a good day too. But whatever you do,
please don't call attention to yourself, all right?"

"I won't Jack," PJ answered. For certain he didn't want any trouble! He
planned to be invisible all day.

At the ballpark, after Jack disappeared into the clubhouse, PJ climbed the
ramps up to the club level, found an empty luxury box, and curled up in one
of the padded chairs, napping on and off for a few hours, checking from
time to time to see if Janice was down in the seats by the dugout. When he
saw that she'd arrived, he still didn't go sit with her right away but
waited until they were enough other people in the aisles so that he
wouldn't stand out. Then he went back down very carefully, watching for any
reporters. By now there were families with kids coming into the stadium,
arriving early to watch batting practice and warm-ups. PJ followed along
near them so he wouldn't be conspicuous. Once he got to where Janice was
sitting with the other Red Sox wives, he took a seat right next to her and
remained there without moving. When they all went to lunch, he kept himself
in the middle of the group among the kids, hiding his face by pulling his
cap down.

At lunch, PJ heard Janice talking to one of the other women about a weather
report that predicted rain for the afternoon. "I hope they can get the game
in," Janice was saying. "I hate it when they have to play a doubleheader on
the travel day." PJ knew the Red Sox were supposed to fly to Baltimore
after the evening game the following night, a trip on the big team plane
that he was looking forward to. If there was a postponement due to rain, a
make-up game would be played as a doubleheader with the night game. That
was the last thing PJ wanted to happen. It would be one more thing to make
Jack mad.

Clouds were visible after lunch, but PJ decided the game would probably
start on time. Checking around, he thought that the stadium looked sold
out--and that was a good thing. With such a big crowd, he would be as hard
to spot as a pea in a pod. Nevertheless, he stayed close to Janice, never
leaving her side.

The game was played under more and more ominous-looking rain clouds, but
otherwise it went well for the Red Sox. They gave their starting pitcher
five runs on ten hits, and he made it all the way to the seventh inning
before giving up any runs of his own. Then the bullpen came in, finishing
off the game to preserve a 5-3 victory.

Jack didn't do anything spectacular, but PJ thought he'd a good game. There
were some boos when he came up for the first time and struck out. But later
on, hitting with men on base, he got a single and an RBI, ending up two for
four on the day. PJ cheered hard for him each time he was at the plate, yet
was careful never to stand up or move his arms around waving, or do
anything else that might call attention to himself.

On the way back to the hotel, PJ breathed a sigh of relief. It had all gone
just right. The game had not been delayed or rained out, the Red Sox had
won, PJ hadn't been in any trouble, and Jack had gotten two hits. Maybe
things would be okay now.

Letting himself into the hotel room with his key, PJ was feeling a lot
better than he had that morning. He wasn't pleased with the scene that
greeted him, though. The maid had been in to change the beds and clean the
bathroom, but Jack's stuff was still thrown all over, clothes and other
items strewn on desk and chairs. Looking around, he had an idea: he would
clean everything up!

That way, when Jack came back in a good mood from winning the game and
getting two hits, he would walk into a nice clean room with everything
perfect. He would probably give PJ a hug, throw him around playfully,
tickle him, or do something else to make him laugh. They would go have
dinner at some strange restaurant that only Jack knew about where he would
teach PJ more about foreign food, while telling him funny stories. Then,
when they came back, PJ would show Jack the football trophy and the
medals. Jack would tell him how proud he was of him. They might watch a
movie then, or play video game, or just talk. PJ hoped they would
talk. There were a lot of things PJ had never told anyone that he would be
willing to tell Jack. Jack always understood.

PJ visualized all this as he went around the room picking up clothes,
folding things, putting stuff away. In the closet he found a big plastic
laundry bag that he used for the dirty things, stuffing all he could find
into it. Rummaging through Jack's duffel bag, he found a stack of filthy
socks, which reminded him of Jim's comment in the hotel room in New
York. "Don't bite!" PJ said, laughing, as he deposited the dirty socks with
the other laundry into the bag.

At last he had everything perfect. The room was immaculate. In the closet
by the door, all Jack's clothes were hung neatly, his shoes exactly lined
up on the floor as if with a ruler. PJ smiled happily. He got out Safe at
Home and was reading it when he heard Jack's key in the door. He stood up
eagerly.

"Hi, Tiger!" As Jack came through the door, PJ could tell that he was in a
better mood. But he suddenly stopped in the middle of the room, staring
around. PJ grinned delightedly. He knew Jack would be surprised!

"What the hell!" Suddenly Jack was scowling. Face red with fury, he slammed
his fist on the desk, walked quickly to the closet, jerked it open, and
swore. Then he pulled open his bag and threw it on the bed.

PJ's grin vanished, happiness turning to dismay, then fear. Something was
terribly wrong. "Jack, what is it?"

"I'm going to kill that goddamned maid! She's been told not to touch any of
that stuff!"

Pulling the telephone off the hook so roughly that the instrument fell to
the floor, Jack picked it up, jammed a finger down on one of the buttons,
and stood waiting, glaring at the wall. He was clenching and unclenching
his fist. "Housekeeping?" he finally yelled into the phone, "this is
Mr. Canon. I want the chief housekeeper in my room right now!" With another
oath, he slammed the phone down, knocking it to the floor again, and
started pacing back and forth by the bed, snarling, "I told her twice to
leave all that stuff alone! How goddamned dumb can she be? I'd like to
wring her neck!"

PJ was terrified, so frightened that he was trembling. He had no idea what
he'd done wrong, but it had to have been something awful for Jack to be
this upset. He realized that he was going to have to tell Jack the truth.

"Jack," he tried to say. But he was so scared nothing came out. He
swallowed and tried again. "J-Jack," he managed to croak.

The big man stopped his furious pacing to look at the boy's white face.

"Jack, it was me-e," PJ stammered. He stared at Jack in wide-eyed terror.

"What?"

"It wasn't the maid," PJ quavered. "I did it."

Just then there was a knock on the door. "Wait a minute," Jack told him. He
went to the door, opened it, and talked with someone while PJ sat on the
end of his bed, shaking in every limb. After a short conversation, Jack
shut the door, walked over to PJ, and stood glaring down at him.

"Okay. Tell me exactly what you did."

PJ looked up, trying to meet Jack's eyes. It wasn't easy. "I . . . I
cleaned up a little. The room was kind of messy so . . . I cleaned it up. I
thought it would be a nice surprise for you."

Jack kept staring a few seconds longer, and then sighed in disgust. He went
and sat down in the chair. "I guess I should have known." He looked at
PJ. "You can't leave anything alone, can you?"

"Jack, what did I do wrong?" PJ was close to tears.

"Dammit, PJ, don't start bawling on me!" Jack made an irritable gesture. "I
don't suppose it ever occurred to you that baseball players are
superstitious. That I might have my stuff arranged a certain way for a
reason. I know that may sound stupid to a boy genius like you. But it works
for my simple mind! One of the ways I get myself out of a slump, boy, Is,
if I get a hit, to leave all my socks and underwear in the same order in
which I left them the day before. Like I say, it probably sounds stupid,
but it works for me. You just totally wrecked the whole system!"

PJ stared, horrified. Jack was wrong, PJ did know about baseball
superstitions. He had read all about them and knew how important they could
be. He just hadn't ever read about that one.

"I'm sorry, Jack," he whispered. Now he was even more frightened than
before. If Jack's slump got worse, he had every reason to blame PJ for it.

Jack sighed again, shaking his head. He got up, picked the phone off the
floor, and put it back on the desk. Then he sat down once again in the
chair. "I suppose I should have told you. It just never occurred to me
you'd do anything like this. I mean, what kinda kid goes around playing
"Little Susie Homemaker"? Normal kids throw their stuff around and leave it
on the floor. Not you. Nothing you do is normal. Geez, your clothes are
always neat! That room you have at school is so clean it looks like no one
lives there! I bet your room at that camp was the same way. Even those
e-mails you send me. Spelled and punctuated! Goddamn, PJ, when are you ever
a kid?"

PJ was in shock. He stared at Jack glassy-eyed.

"What are you doing here, PJ?" The stern tone of the question made PJ's
stomach knot in fear. "I mean, really," Jack continued, "why are you here?
It's the end of summer vacation. Any other kid would want to be at the
beach, or Disney World, or playing with his friends at the arcade, or
riding a bike, something! What are you doing here hanging around empty
ballparks and strange hotel rooms? What is it with you? Why are you doing
that? Tell me. I'd really like to know."

"I came to see you, Jack," PJ whispered. He felt dizzy.

"To see me." Jack shook his head in disbelief. "As if you haven't seen me
at least a dozen times already this year! How much is enough, PJ? How many
more times does there have to be? I mean, nine months ago you didn't even
know me. Now all of a sudden you just can't live without seeing me? What's
up with that? What's the real reason?"

PJ just stared at him. He held his hands tightly in his lap to keep them
from shaking.

"You won't tell me," Jack said, fixing him with his eyes, "but I know what
it is, PJ. You don't have to tell me, because you've made it pretty clear
all along. Now, I don't want to be unkind to you, but you need to get it
straight. I'm not your father, PJ. I never was, and I never will be. I'm
sorry about what happened to your parents, and I know you haven't had an
easy time. But that's just the way it goes. I can't fix it for you. I know
you'd like to have a father, and I know you've picked me for the part, but
it won't work. I'm no good at it. Any urges I ever had to be a father died
six years ago when my son died. And here's something you should know. I was
a lousy father! I was a lousy father to my own kid! I hardly ever saw him
and even when I did, I didn't do much for him. Sometimes I think it's just
as well he's dead. I probably would've screwed him up somehow."

PJ shook his head. "No," he whispered, eyes glistening with tears.

"Look, I can see this is upsetting you." Jack made another impatient
gesture. "But maybe it's for the best. I mean, you're just gonna have to
face this someday. Now's probably as good a time as any. Let's look at the
facts, kid. I'm a professional ballplayer, and this is baseball season. I'm
trying to get a job done here. I'm trying to get my ball club to the World
Series. Now you want to see that happen, don't you? I haven't got time to
play nursemaid or part-time dad. And what's more, PJ, I don't want to."

Jack got up. "Look," he said, staring down at PJ's stricken face, and it
was as if he was trying to sound more friendly, "you had a bad time. I
helped you out for awhile. I mean, what the heck--I like you. You're a
likable kid. But I'm not your father. And it's time you stopped with all
that. Now, I don't want to sound unkind, but I want you outta here. This is
no place for a kid. I should never have let you come. And you need to
forget about me and move on, PJ. Forget about me. Root for the Red Sox all
you want, but get on with your life. You've got lots of friends. You should
be doing things with them. Go hang out with Erik, or that Travis kid. Those
are the people you should be with. Go be a normal kid. I don't want you
hanging around anymore, okay? So call Walter and get something arranged. Do
whatever you have to do. But let's get going. Tomorrow's a travel day and I
have to be out of here in the morning."

With a gesture of dismissal, Jack turned and left the room, leaving PJ
sitting on the bed, staring after him in such a numb state of shock and
terror of abandonment that for several minutes, he never moved. Then,
suddenly, he got up and ran into the bathroom and vomited into the toilet
until he was racked by dry heaves. Eventually they ended. He spit and rose
shakily to his feet. After flushing, he rinsed his mouth out in the sink.

But the shaking wouldn't stop. Panicky thoughts whirled around in his
mind. Get away! Get away! Run away and hide where nobody can find me!

The shame was unbearable. He was the weird kid nobody wanted. Not his
parents, not even Jack. Nobody, nobody, nobody!  And it was all his
fault. There was something wrong with him. Run away before they find out!

Call Walter? No. It was late; Walter couldn't fix anything until
morning. And when that came, Walter would ask questions. They would all ask
questions! And no one must know! They musn't know how weird and unwanted he
was. I would rather die than have them find out! Get away now! He'd have to
pretend later that everything had been just fine, just fine. He was leaving
a few days early, that was all. Jack was busy. A baseball team on the road
was no place for a kid.

He was hiding now, crouched down in a corner of his mind, a secret hiding
place where no one could see him. PJ watched as some other boy, some other
PJ, methodically packed the few belongings not already in his bag. Just as
methodically, that same boy sat at the desk, took a pen, and wrote a note
on hotel stationery.

"Dear Jack,

 I called Walter.  He fixed up some tickets for me.  I'm going to the
airport now. I have money for a taxi.  I am very sorry I messed up your
stuff. I hope you do good tomorrow, and in all your games.

Your friend, PJ."

He left the note on Jack's bed where he would be sure to see it. Putting on
his fitted Red Sox cap, he checked to be sure he wasn't forgetting anything
before walking out of the room carrying his bag. In the elevator going down
to the lobby, he also checked his wallet. Fifty dollars. He hoped it would
be enough. Out on the sidewalk, he hailed a taxi, and told the driver he
wanted to go to the bus station.

The ride in the taxi was long enough for PJ to begin feeling sick again. He
swallowed hard, hoping he wouldn't vomit all over himself, but they stopped
at the station soon enough for him to pay the driver and make it to the
bathroom before nausea overwhelmed him again. He locked himself in a stall,
endured more dry heaves, and afterwards sat on the john with his head in
his hands. Once a minute or so had gone by, he opened his bag and took out
the little football trophy, holding it in both hands and staring at it. He
put his head down again and sobbed, burying his face against his knees to
stifle the sound of his crying. It went on for a long time. When it finally
stopped, he dried his eyes, put the trophy back in the bag, and wrapped it
carefully in a shirt.

Where could he go? What should he do? Erik wasn't expecting him in
Philadelphia for three more days. If he showed up early, there would be
questions. He would have to lie. He didn't want Erik to know his
shame. Who'd want to be friends with a weird kid nobody wanted? He couldn't
bear to lose his roommate's friendship. He'd have to lie, and tell more
lies. . .

Travis. Travis was his Big Brother. Travis wouldn't ask questions. Travis
and Coach Drew would just be glad to see him. But if he went to see Travis
without telling Erik, that would mean even more questions. . .

Stop it! The tears welled up again. PJ squeezed his eyes shut and balled
his fists. Stop it! Just stop it! Go away! But there was no place to
run. Jack had been his last refuge, and now, . . .

PJ took a deep, shuddering breath. He wanted it to end. He just wanted an
ending. Yet the habit of continuing on was hard to break. He zipped up his
bag, unlocked the stall door, washed his face in the sink, and walked back
out into he terminal waiting area.

A bank of Greyhound ticket windows ran down one wall. Going over to one, PJ
bought a ticket to Philly for just over $30, luckily at the half-price
weekend rate. His bus didn't leave for an hour, so he wandered around,
buying a Backpacker magazine to pass the time with, plus a paperback
western called Showdown at Yankee Flats for the trip. He had his Safe at
Home in his bag, but he knew he couldn't bear to read it. He wasn't sure
he'd ever want to read it again.

The bus ride to Philadelphia was a nightmare. PJ stayed sick most of the
way, unable to eat, dozing in his seat and having terrifying dreams of
being lost in the dark. The magazine and book were no help at all because
reading on the bus made his nausea worse. He couldn't concentrate on the
words anyway, so finally he gave up, simply enduring the trip hour after
hour, sitting in a numbed state. At one point he had a severe attack of his
"weirds."

For what seemed like hours his brain buzzed, while his vision, both
sharpened and distorted, created bizarre patterns out of cracks in the
seatback before him. Ordinary objects appeared strange and grotesque. At
the end, he became convinced that the bus would never reach
Philadelphia. The trip would simply continue forever, the way his life
continued--an endless dark bus trip to nowhere, with PJ trapped on board,
sick and frightened.

The bus traveled through the night and on into the following day, making an
occasional stop. As the hours crawled by, PJ stared out the window at a
landscape that seemed never to change, flowing past yet always looking the
same. When they finally reached the end of the Pennsylvania Turnpike, the
transition startled him. The bus threaded its way through Philadelphia's
urban sprawl, at last pulling in to the curb at the main downtown terminal,
where for the first time since leaving Chicago, PJ recognized a place where
he'd been before.  Staggering off with his bag, legs stiff and shaky, he
found a place to sit down, feeling lightheaded from not having eaten for
fifteen hours or so. But at least the trip was over. It was like a
miracle. He remained sitting for a few minutes until he felt better, and
then looked for a telephone.

A row of payphones lined the wall by the snack stand, but on the way over,
PJ discovered he had no change. He bought a candy bar, ate slowly while he
gauged the condition of his stomach, and used the change from his purchase
to try the number Travis's coach had given him. Getting nothing but an
answering machine was a disappointment, but he left a message: "Hi, Coach
Drew. This is PJ. I'm at the bus station downtown. I'm gonna call Erik next
and I'll either be here or at Erik's house. I'd like to see you, so I hope
you're around. Goodbye."

Next he tried Erik's number and got a maid. She told him no one was home,
but took down a message. By now he was out of change, so returning to the
snack stand he bought another candy bar, and stuffed that one into his bag
for future use. Back at the phone he tried Bill's number at work and was
surprised when Bill himself answered.

"Bill?" PJ said. "It's PJ."

"PJ!" Bill's familiar voice boomed over the line. PJ felt better just
hearing it. "PJ, Where are you?"

"I'm here at the bus station. Bill, would you mind if I came to visit you a
few days early?"

"The bus station? What bus station?"

"The one here. Philadelphia."

"The one downtown?"

"Uh-huh."

Bill's voice grew more stern. "PJ, sit down and stay right where you
are. I'm coming now to get you. Just stay right there."

"Okay, Bill," PJ promised. He hung up the phone, thinking, Oh, no. Bill
sounded angry! Is he gonna be mad at me too?

Picking up his bag, he went to the closest seat and settled down to wait,
making no attempt to read or look around, instead staring off into
space. Thirty minutes later, Bill found him there, a small lost figure
sitting alone in the back of the waiting area. Striding over to him, Erik's
stepdad frowned in concern. The boy's eyes were sunken, there were dark
rings under them. When he saw Bill and stood up, the wan little smile he
gave looked grotesque on his tired face.

"PJ!" Bill gave the boy a quick hug and was startled by how hard PJ gripped
him in return. As they walked out of the terminal, PJ took hold of his
hand, something Bill also thought unusual. "Are you feeling alright, PJ?
You look exhausted."

"I always get sick on long bus trips."

In the car going home, PJ was so quiet that Bill tried a few gentle
probes. "I thought you weren't coming until Thursday."

Here come the questions, PJ thought. But at least Bill no longer sounded
angry. "I got sorta tired of hanging around the stadium and the hotel
room," he explained, using his prepared lie. "It's actually kinda boring
when the team's on the road. Jack's pretty busy now, too. I didn't want to
bother him much. I appreciate you letting me come early like this."

"We're delighted to have you, PJ. The longer the better. Erik will be happy
to see you!  How's Jack doing?"

"He's okay. He's in a little slump right now, but he'll get out of it. He
told me to say 'Hi' to you." Another lie. How many more?

Bill smiled. "That's nice of him. Guess you guys had a good visit?"

"Oh, yeah. It was great."

When they got to the house, PJ asked if he could use the phone, first
calling Coach Drew to leave another message saying that he was at Erik's
house. Then he called Walter's office in New York, got Ms. Snyder's
secretary, and let her know that he was in Philadelphia staying with his
roommate's family. "So I won't need that transportation from Baltimore to
Philly," he told her. "I'll be staying here until school starts. When it's
time, my roommate's parents will drive us up. So I'm all set. When I get to
Gordonsville, I'll call to tell you."

Once he had finished, Bill turned him over to the maid. "I'm going back to
work, PJ. Erik is somewhere with Travis today. He should be back soon. The
maid will fix you something to eat. Make yourself at home. Use Erik's room
for now. We'll work out something later. There's a pool in the back.  Go
out there and take it easy. I think you must have had a long trip."

"Yeah, it felt pretty long," PJ answered. Awfully long

After Bill left, the maid offered to fix PJ sandwiches, but he told her
that all he wanted was a glass of milk. After she showed him to Erik's room
upstairs, PJ sat down on Erik's wide bed, staring around at everything. His
friend's room was big. In addition to the bed, there was a desk with a
computer, several chairs, a TV set with an attached PlayStation and VCR,
plus a small table with a collection of models on it. Bookshelves and
sports posters lined the walls. Some of Erik's clothes were strewn
around. PJ got to his feet, began picking them up--and stopped suddenly,
remembering Jack's disdainful "Suzie Homemaker!"

Stripping off, he put on his Speedo and padded in bare feet down the
staircase in the big central hallway, finding his way from there to the
back of the house, then into the yard. Outside the air-conditioning, it was
hot and humid, the sun bright. He walked across the soft grass to the pool,
some distance from the house. There was no breeze. In the still surface of
the water, reflections of puffy summer clouds looked like floating
marshmallows.

PJ dove in, body instantly enveloped by the cool sensual feel of bubbling
water on bare skin. With easy strokes, he swam a few times back and forth,
then submerged to the bottom of the deep end, popping his ears to relieve
the pressure. A big drain was in the very deepest part. PJ put his fingers
into its heavy grate to anchor himself. Except for the beating of his heart
and the popping music of bubbles rising upward, there was no sound beneath
the surface. Light from above played over the cement walls, a never-ending
dance of color and shadow. PJ thought of the times he'd been in Jack's
pool, swimming along the bottom after Jack had just tossed him high into
the air and he'd somersaulted back into the water. He'd so loved that.

It felt incredibly peaceful at the bottom. PJ wondered what it would be
like to stay there forever; to keep hold of the drain, never returning to
that world beyond the rippling surface over his head. A world that seemed
nothing more than a continuing endless bus ride to destinations with
strange terrors. Slowly, he let air trickle out of his mouth in a trail of
small bubbles until he lost his buoyancy, settling against the rough cement
floor. He freed his fingers from the drain and pictured the way he must
look, his almost-naked body stretched on the bottom, arms and legs limp,
moving very slightly with the flow of water, his fine blonde hair drifting
like seaweed around a still face with sightless staring eyes. Someplace, a
portion of his brain was aware that his body wanted to take a breath, so he
forced more air out of his chest. One quick breath of water, he thought, a
moment of struggle, then an eternity of peace.

The loud noise of a splash above his head made him look up. A boy in baggy,
blue shorts was swimming down, grinning at him. PJ suddenly realized it was
Erik. His friend tapped him on the shoulder, then started back
upward. Startled, PJ stood up and pushed off the bottom, following Erik to
the surface. As his head emerged from the water, he took a huge gulp of
air. And then some more.

"PJ!" Erik shouted delightedly. He jumped all over his friend, wrestling
and tickling.  "Man, am I glad to see you!"

Erik's tickling had PJ laughing so hard he almost choked. Curling up in a
ball, he managed to sputter between fits of laughter, "Argh! Help! Okay
Erik. Don't kill me."

"What the heck were you doing down there on the bottom, PJ?"

"I was trying to see how long I could hold my breath."

His roommate grinned at him. "How come you're here early? I thought you
weren't coming until Thursday."

"I got tired of hanging around the hotel room. It's boring when the team's
on the road. We had our visit. Then Jack fixed it so I could come here to
see you and Travis. We both thought that might be better." The lie came
easily now.

"I'll say it's better!" Erik said happily. "Travis and I have missed you
all summer. Come on, I'll race you to the kitchen! I gotta have something
to eat. I'm starving."

The two boys ran across the lawn trying to beat each other, bursting into
the kitchen laughing, breathing hard. They made peanut butter sandwiches
with mounds of grape jelly, and Erik persuaded PJ to add slices of
banana. They ate them with gusto, polishing off nearly a gallon of milk in
the process. In between bites, they exchanged news, Erik talking non-stop
about all the things he and Travis had been doing during the summer, while
PJ told his friend about his adventures at camp. After lunch, they went
outside to throw a Frisbee for awhile, followed by more swimming in the
pool, chasing each other around, splashing, dunking, and having contests to
see who could dive farthest.

In the afternoon, they were joined by Travis and Coach Drew, who came over
immediately when they discovered PJ's message on the answering
machine. Travis gave PJ a huge hug, pounding him on the back, saying, "Oh,
man, it's good to see you, PJ!" Then, of course, PJ had to tell about his
camp all over again so Travis could hear it, this time, with Erik chiming
in enthusiastically to make sure he'd left nothing out.

When Bill came home, he and Erik's mother sat quietly with Coach Drew,
listening to the three youngsters talking. PJ got the camp football trophy
and swimming medals out of his bag so they could be passed around and
everyone could admire them.

"PJ, this is really cool." Erik held the trophy, looking at it enviously.

"We saw your name in Swimming World!" Travis exclaimed, handing one of the
medals to Coach Drew. I never even saw that, PJ realized.

"You're times this summer were just terrific," Mr. Drew said to PJ. "I bet
the coaching down there was good."

PJ nodded. "They were all from the university. But I think you and my coach
at Gordonsville are just as good."

Bill took the little football trophy from Erik so he could admire it
again. "This is a fine achievement, PJ." He smiled at the boy. "You know, I
bet old Jack just about burst with pride when you showed him this."

PJ forced a smile and nodded. "Oh yeah. He was proud."

Travis and Erik had gotten awards that summer, too. Erik had trophies from
Little League and soccer; Travis had won several medals like PJ's. "We both
did well, Little Brother!" Travis told him with a grin. "I had to race all
those fourteen-year-olds, and you had to race twelve-year-olds. Think how
much better we'll be next year when we're at the top of our age groups!"

"Speaking of birthdays. . ." Coach Drew reached over to give PJ's shoulder
a nudge.  "Travis' is next week and yours is . . . when?"

"The beginning of September."

"Close enough!" Bill exclaimed. "This coming weekend, we're celebrating!"

Erik held out a fist for both Travis and PJ to tap. "Island Beach State
Park on the Jersey Shore, guys!" Then with a giggle he added, "Sun, sand,
big waves . . . and girls!"

"We're going to Great Adventure Theme Park after!" Travis filled in. "We're
gonna stay late for the fireworks!"

"And then after that, I'll be taking you and Erik up to school so you can
get started in your football camp," Bill said, smiling at PJ fondly. He
beckoned the boy over to give him a big hug. "We wish we could have had you
for the whole summer, PJ. But you're here in time for the big finish! And
we're so glad to have you!"

Travis and Coach Drew stayed for dinner, with the three boys, while they
ate, making plans to meet the next day. After Travis and his coach left,
Erik took PJ upstairs to his room where they played video games until
Erik's mother came in.

"PJ, I have a nice guest room all ready for you. Would you like to see it?"

"Mom," Erik begged, "can't PJ stay in my room with me?"

His mother smiled. "That's up to him. What would you like to do, PJ? Either
way is fine."

PJ looked up shyly. "I'd rather stay with Erik, if it's okay."

"All right!" Erik gave PJ a high-five.

They played more games, talking and having fun until late, then got ready
for bed just as they had done so often at school together. Erik made sure
that a dim light stayed on so PJ would have his nightlight. "I've got a big
bed, PJ," he said.  There's lots of room. You take whichever side you want
and I'll take the other."

PJ nodded. "Erik. . ." he said hesitantly.

His friend held up a hand. "I know. Don't worry, trust your roommate. I am
fully prepared." He pointed to a drawer. "In there are spare sheets and
blankets. And hey--he gave PJ a towel--you can wrap this around yourself if
you need to." He stared hard at PJ, looking very serious. "I'm right
here. I'll be here for whatever you need. If you have any trouble, you wake
me up. I'm your roommate. I'm also your best friend. And you're my
brother. Okay?"

PJ looked back just as seriously. "Thanks Erik." He put the towel by the
side of the bed. "I probably won't need this."

Lying in bed, they talked for awhile longer about all their plans for the
week, their eyes gradually closing until they both drifted off to sleep.

Erik was awakened twice that night by PJ talking and moving in his
sleep. Each time, Erik whispered soothing words to his friend and PJ calmed
down. In the early morning as dawn was breaking, Erik woke again to find PJ
over on his side of the bed cuddled against him, gripping his arm. It was
like that every night for PJ's entire visit.

* * *

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT TWENTY- SIX

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



* * *

CONCLUSION OF INSTALLMENT TWENTY- SIX

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

I appreciate any comments you want to make!