“No. No, it’s not.”
“You’re supposed to say it’s okay, though, Sullivan.”
“Am I? Sorry, I don’t know the protocol.”
“It’s okay. Neither do I. Guess we’ll just have to figure it out together.”
“I lost one of these too, you know.”
“A World Series?”
“A championship,” I corrected him. “My senior year at Cal. We were an out away when that bitch from Oklahoma launched a homer and walked us off.”
“Brutal. I didn’t know you played.”
“You never asked.”
He had the good sense to seem abashed. “What position?” he asked, but realization dawned quickly. Like understands like. “Catcher.”
“Yeah. Anyway, it’s happened to me a lot. Runner-up at the Little League World Series and the California High School State Championships. Runner-up atASAGold Nationals. Runner-up atNCAAChampionships and now . . .”
“Runner-up at the World Series,” he finished for me.
“Second-Place Sullivan,” I sing-song.
“No one calls you that.”
“I do, in my head.”
“Fuck,” he breathed out, “my therapist would have a field day with that.”
“Oh, mine does, believe me.”
His laugh is a deep, rumbling sound and I join him just as a breeze kicks up and I shiver against it. I left the jacket to my skirt suit up with Raúl and just the camisole from beneath it isn’t enough as the night grows ever darker.
“I should go.” I stood up with a soft sigh.
“I’ll walk you to your car.” He stands too, his eyes trained away from the field in what I assume is a deliberate attempt to stop looking at it.
“You don’t have to. Raúl usually—”
“If it’s okay, I’d . . . I don’t think I can walk out of here on my own.”
“Oh, right. Of course.”
The last time he’ll leave Dodger Stadium as a player after the last game of his career. That would mess me up too.
“C’mon then.”
He followed me back up through the suite exit, through the tunnels of the stadium, until we reached Raúl’s desk. Then, from somewhere inside the dark brown leather of his jacket, Charlie pulled out an envelope with the security guard’s name on it and handed it to him.
“Mr Avery, that’s unnecess—”
“No arguments,” Charlie cut him off, and grinned. “There’s a little extra in there, you know, for all the years.”
“You’re done?” Raúl asked, and for a moment the tough security guard, fifty if he’s a day, sounded like one of the little kids who line the edges of the stands before every game waiting for their favorite player to jog over during warm-ups to sign a baseball or a hat.
A lot of grown men felt like little boys once the news dropped.
