~ Chapter Five ~

Kevin flopped onto the bed in his hotel room and switched the TV on, all in the same motion.  He wasn't ready to go to sleep yet, but it was either go back to his room or go with Howie and AJ.  And if Howie was involved, then there would probably be a nightclub involved too.  Kevin had nothing against that, he was hardly a stick in the mud, but it was better if he just stayed out of harms way.

He had been married for seven years now, and had every intention of staying that way.

Speaking of being married, Kevin rolled over and grabbed the phone.  He hadn't seen his wife Karen or six year old daughter Rebecca since spring training had started.  Becky was in school, so Karen and Becky were still in Seattle.

"Dahling, what's up?"  Kevin asked when he heard Karen pick up the phone.  He switched the TV over to ESPN and muted it.

"Oh, Kevin!"  Karen said in delight, then sighed.  Kevin winced.  That meant something had happened.  Karen was a very enthusiastic, outgoing kind of person.  Unfortunately, that made her just a little accident prone.

"What?"  Kevin said suspiciously.

"Honey, do you remember why you married me?"  Karen started. 

"What did you DO?"  Kevin demanded.

"I mean, I remember why I married you, sweetie."  Karen continued, ignoring his question.  "You were this incredibly good-looking athlete, and I was just a secretary, and..."

"What happened?"  Kevin interrupted, dead serious.  She was trying to butter him up now.  "Is it serious?"

"I'm just not going to tell you."  Karen decided.

"Was it life threatening?"  Kevin kept asking questions.  Eventually she would slip up and tell him anyway, without meaning to.  She always did.

"Oh no!  It was just a little scrape!"

That sounded car related.  Kevin relaxed a little.  He had been worried for a moment that the kitchen had burned down or something serious like that.  Every single road trip, he would come home to a list of everything that had gone wrong while he was away.  "So, you wrecked the car?"

"No.  And it wasn't really my fault."  Karen added distractedly.  "I mean, you hit the button for the garage door and you expect it to OPEN, right?"

"Karen, you didn't."

"I didn't what?  I didn't do anything.  Everything's just fine here!  So, that was a pretty good game tonight, huh?"  She changed the subject.

Kevin laughed.  "You're funny, you know that?"  He would annoyed about the garage door if it wasn't so amusing.  The same could be said for any of the other mishaps that happened to her while he was on the road.  The time the upstairs bathroom toilet broke and flooded through the ceiling - well, that one hadn't been as funny.  The time Karen had managed to lock herself out of the house - that one had been funny, but only because Kevin had been prepared and had a key hidden in the flower bed.

"You're going to be home in six days?"

"Uh-huh."  Kevin rolled over, serious now.  "I miss you."

" I hate spring training."  Karen pouted.

"You wouldn't hate it if you were down there."  Kevin yawned.  Maybe he was a little more tired than he was willing to admit.  It used to be that he could easily stay up until one in the morning, but no longer. 

"But I'm up here, and it's raining and it's cold... you'd better go to bed.  You sound tired."

"I'm fine."  Kevin protested, stifling another yawn.  "I haven't talked to you in a while."

" You can talk to me later.  Go to bed.":  Karen ordered.  "Okay?  I love you."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"What?"  Now Karen was confused.

"Never mind."  Kevin shook his head.  Karen might have been a master at rapid subject changes, but when it came to actually following one, she was completely lost.  "I love you too.  Say hi to Becky for me."  Kevin smiled.  "And I'll fix the garage door when I get home."

"How did you know that?"  Karen asked in shock.

"Well, in addition to being a good-looking athlete, I'm also pretty smart." 

~*~

Nick stepped back out of the batter's box and stalled for time, refastening his batting gloves.  It probably wouldn't make any difference.  He'd still strike out.  After his single in Game 1, Nick couldn't buy a hit.  And tonight, in the home opener against the Orioles, things weren't about to change.  Safeco Field was sold out, the  fans into the game, even though their team was losing in the sixth inning.  The retractable roof had been open at the beginning of the game, although now a light drizzle was beginning to fall, causing the Orioles to complain about the roof.  The umpires would have to call time at the end of the inning and close it. 

He stepped back in, swinging his bat across the plate once.  All he needed was one good hit, just to get him going.  The snowball effect applied to hitting, whether you were doing well, or not. 

Nick swung at the pitch - and missed.  He shook his head in disgust and stalked back to the dugout.  The hitting coach was making notes on his clipboard.  That meant Nick would be doing extra work at practice tomorrow.  He might as well, it wasn't as if there were any pressing social engagements.  He hadn't even found his house yet.  The Mariners had provided a house for him, which was nice, since otherwise he'd be living in a hotel until he found an apartment. 

He shoved his bat back into the rack and headed down the dugout to sit next to Brian.

"What'd y'all swing at that for?"  Brian said innocently, smiling around his gum. 

"The usual reasons."  Nick reasoned.

"Isn't one of the ‘usual' reasons because it's a strike?"  Brian wondered.  "Or is that one of those National League theories?"

"Hey, in the National League, that WOULD have been a strike."  Nick protested, smiling.  Looking back, Brian was probably right.  It had been outside.  But, hindsight was always 20-20.  It didn't change the fact that Nick was now 1 for 19.

"Nick, how about we take a look at some video tomorrow?"  Sure enough, there was Jesse Hatfield, the hitting coach.  He hadn't wasted any time. 

"Okay."  Nick shrugged.  Nick had never needed to spend a lot of time in the video room before.  He didn't shirk his duties, but he didn't spend any more time at them than he needed to.  Some players would spend hours in the video room, studying their swing, studying opposing pitchers, or extra time at batting practice.  Nick wasn't one of those players.

Brian was.  He was always one of the first to arrive at the park, and usually the last to leave.  He might not have been the best player on the team, but it wasn't for lack of trying. 

"Hey, Brian?"  Nick leaned back and watched as the Mariners tried to start a late inning rally. "Where's Kirkland?"

"Other side of Lake Washington, I think."  Brian smacked his gum loudly.  "Why?"

"I think I'm living there."

"Ooooh!"  Brian said in appreciation.  "Nice!  Um, let's ask Kevin.  He's like one of those Expedia maps... he knows everything.  KEVIN!"

Nick grabbed his ear just a little too late.  Now it was ringing.  Brian at close range could be painful.

"You bellowed?"  Kevin wandered over, one shin guard on, the other half fastened and flapping around his knee. 

"Tell us how to get to Kirkland?"  Brian asked politely.

Kevin pursed his lips and thought.  "Well, okay.  From the parking garage, you turn right onto..."

Nick tried not to laugh out loud.  He did sound like an Expedia map.

~*~

Newsbit in The Seattle P.I. on April 8th.

All that ghostbusting might be good for something.  The Seattle bullpen has yet to give up a run.  True, it's only six games into the season, but at this time last year, the Seattle bullpen had a collective ERA of 32.56. 

Last night, after both Arton and Graves finished up the middle innings in relief, the king of the ghostbusters himself, AJ McLean, came in to finish up the ninth inning, arriving to the strains of his signature song, "The Thong Song".  When asked why he chose Sisqo's ode to women's underwear, McLean responded, "I don't know... it sounds cool on the PA system."  He thought for a while longer, then added, "Besides, it's about women's underwear, and it annoys the h--- out of anyone over the age of thirty five.  You can't go wrong with that."

Those ghosts must be over the age of thirty-five.