Читать книгу Mendoza's Return - Susan Crosby - Страница 10

Melina had just finished making the introductions the next day at Rafe’s office when Elliot Anderson, who’d taken a seat on the sofa between his parents, hopped back up and rushed to the glass case on Rafe’s wall. “Wow! Look at all the trophies, Dad. They’re awesome!”

Steve Anderson sent a look of amusement to Rafe then followed his son, coming up behind him. He was a smaller version of his father, both sporting matching crew cuts.

Rafe joined them, grateful for the icebreaker of the trophies. “I see you’re an Alex Rodriguez fan, Elliot. That’s a cool jersey you’ve got on.”

“A-Rod, yeah. Number thirteen. First-round pick of the 1993 draft. He never went to college. The Seattle Mariners signed him. Then the Texas Rangers. My dad took me to see him play but I was too little to remember. I got pictures, though. The New York Yankees got him now. His batting average is—”

“Not now, Elliot,” his father said. “We’re here to talk to Mr. Mendoza.”

“I know. We looked him up on Google.” Energy and excitement burst from him. “Rafe Mendoza was a pitcher for Red Rock High School. His senior year his ERA was 2.28. His batting average was .432. He got forty-six RBIs and six home runs. He struck out 205 and walked forty-two. He went to college at the University of Michigan on a baseball scholarship. His ERA was—”

“Elliot, this is Rafe Mendoza.”

“I know, Dad. He had 362 at bats, and—”

“Would you like to hold one of the trophies, Elliot?” Rafe asked. Melina had told him that the best way stop a running commentary was to redirect him.

“Yes!” He bounced up and down. “Can I choose which one? I want that one,” he said, indicating the very large MVP trophy from Rafe’s senior year at Michigan.

“How about one you can hold in your lap instead?” Rafe asked, pulling down a smaller but fancier trophy, one with brass pennants and other game paraphernalia replicas.

“Okay!”

“Go sit next to Mom,” Steve Anderson said.

Elliot ran to the couch, leaped into the air, turning at the same time, and plopped, grinning. He accepted the trophy and began to examine every inch of it.

Rafe moved his chair in front of his desk, removing the barrier that sometimes stifled conversation. “I hear you’re a good baseball player yourself, Elliot.”

“My batting average is .754. That’s higher than Rafe Mendoza. My dad is teaching me how to pitch.”

“Do you like to pitch?”

“Yes, yes, yes. But I like to hit more. My batting average is .754.”

“Can you catch fly balls?”

“Sometimes.” He seemed to be studying something in particular on the trophy. “I have to wear sunglasses. I like to wear sunglasses. I like to wear uniforms, too, like the other kids. I want to be on the team.”

“What’s your favorite thing about baseball?”

“I want to be with the kids.” He stopped examining the trophy and looked at the prize case again. “I want pictures like that on my wall to look at all the time.”

There were several team photos in the case—Rafe’s high school and college teams, all-star games, too. He understood Elliot’s desire to be part of something that united people in a common effort, one that brought acceptance and camaraderie. Until Rafe had moved back to Red Rock, he’d been part of some business teams in Ann Arbor, as corporate counsel. Going solo was taking some getting used to.

Rafe asked a few more questions, received enthusiastic and hopeful answers, then he wanted to speak to the parents without Elliot present. Melina offered to wait in the lobby with him, but his mother took him, instead, saying that her husband could speak for both of them.