operator leaning over to speak to the receptionist. A smile was on
the telephone operator’s face. Suddenly there was one on the receptionist’s, too.
Then the telephone operator moved back and the receptionist focused her attention on Eddie. Her blue eyes twinkled behind
her glasses.
“It’s all right. You may go. She’s in room three-fifteen.”
“Thank you,” said Eddie.
He flashed her a smile, then went through the open door and down the white-walled corridor that seemed a half a mile long.
He was conscious of his heels clicking on the hard, vinyl floor and tried not to put all his weight on his heels.
He went around the corner, found the elevator, and took it to the third floor. He saw arrows on a wall indicating the room
numbers, and turned down the corridor to his right. Phyllis Monahan’s room was the eighth one down on the left-hand side.
Her door was open. He paused briefly on the threshold and looked in. She lay in bed, with a bandage on her head. She was looking
up at something on the wall opposite her, and from the sound Eddie assumed it was a television program.
He stood there, wondering whether to knock on the door or walk in and announce himself. He was nervous and tense. How was
she going to react when she saw him?
Then he heard another voice—a woman’s—and the bands in his stomach grew tighter.
Monahan had a visitor. Who was it? Her mother?
Why hadn’t the receptionist said something abouther? Didn’t she know? Well, maybe she didn’t. It wasn’t her business to know every visitor that entered the hospital.
Eddie took a step to the side and saw her. She was an older woman who didn’t resemble Phyllis.
Suddenly their eyes met, and instant recognition flared in hers.
“Well!” she declared.
Eddie paled.
He saw Phyllis look away from the television set, glance momentarily at the woman, and shift her attention to him.
Her eyes widened.
“Eddie Rhodes?” she said. “Aren’t you Eddie Rhodes?”
“Yes,” he said.
10
He stepped into the room. It was warm and smelled
faintly of disinfectant.
“How you doing?” he asked nervously.
She looked at him curiously, her eyes dropping briefly to the box he was holding.
“Fine. But I never thought I’d see you here. What’ve you got there?”
He smiled. “A present.”
“A present for me? Or is it a flag of truce?”
“Maybe both,” he said tensely, and handed it to her.
“Thank you. Oh, wow.”
He forced a grin. “I was afraid you’d think I had hit you on purpose, and I didn’t. It was a wild pitch. An accident.”
She looked at the woman by the window.
“Mom, this is Eddie Rhodes,” she said. “My mother, Eddie.”
Eddie met the woman’s eyes. They were brown, wide, and cold.
“I know,” she replied stiffly before Eddie could speak. “I recognized him the minute he stepped into the room.”
Her voice chilled him, and Eddie felt like turning around and walking out. But an inner voice compelled him to stay—at least
for a little while longer.
“Hi, Mrs. Monahan,” he said quietly.
“You’re the one who almost ran into me with your bike,” Phyllis broke in. “You, and another kid.”
“Yes,” he said, then frowned, slightly piqued. “Look, you don’t think I did that on purpose, too, do you?”
She tightened her lips.
“I don’t know. But you seem to cause the most peculiar accidents and they all happen to me.”
He shook his head. “I know. But they
were
accidents. Especially hitting you on the head. I’m pretty wild at times. It’s not the first time I’ve thrown a pitch like
that.”
“Then you shouldn’t pitch!” Mrs. Monahan snapped angrily.
Both Eddie and Phyllis looked around at her. She had gotten off her chair, and was standing there; her eyes glittered.
“If you know you’re a wild pitcher, you shouldn’t be pitching. You should know better, and your coachshould know better,” she said hotly. “What if she hadn’t been wearing that helmet?
the telephone operator’s face. Suddenly there was one on the receptionist’s, too.
Then the telephone operator moved back and the receptionist focused her attention on Eddie. Her blue eyes twinkled behind
her glasses.
“It’s all right. You may go. She’s in room three-fifteen.”
“Thank you,” said Eddie.
He flashed her a smile, then went through the open door and down the white-walled corridor that seemed a half a mile long.
He was conscious of his heels clicking on the hard, vinyl floor and tried not to put all his weight on his heels.
He went around the corner, found the elevator, and took it to the third floor. He saw arrows on a wall indicating the room
numbers, and turned down the corridor to his right. Phyllis Monahan’s room was the eighth one down on the left-hand side.
Her door was open. He paused briefly on the threshold and looked in. She lay in bed, with a bandage on her head. She was looking
up at something on the wall opposite her, and from the sound Eddie assumed it was a television program.
He stood there, wondering whether to knock on the door or walk in and announce himself. He was nervous and tense. How was
she going to react when she saw him?
Then he heard another voice—a woman’s—and the bands in his stomach grew tighter.
Monahan had a visitor. Who was it? Her mother?
Why hadn’t the receptionist said something abouther? Didn’t she know? Well, maybe she didn’t. It wasn’t her business to know every visitor that entered the hospital.
Eddie took a step to the side and saw her. She was an older woman who didn’t resemble Phyllis.
Suddenly their eyes met, and instant recognition flared in hers.
“Well!” she declared.
Eddie paled.
He saw Phyllis look away from the television set, glance momentarily at the woman, and shift her attention to him.
Her eyes widened.
“Eddie Rhodes?” she said. “Aren’t you Eddie Rhodes?”
“Yes,” he said.
10
He stepped into the room. It was warm and smelled
faintly of disinfectant.
“How you doing?” he asked nervously.
She looked at him curiously, her eyes dropping briefly to the box he was holding.
“Fine. But I never thought I’d see you here. What’ve you got there?”
He smiled. “A present.”
“A present for me? Or is it a flag of truce?”
“Maybe both,” he said tensely, and handed it to her.
“Thank you. Oh, wow.”
He forced a grin. “I was afraid you’d think I had hit you on purpose, and I didn’t. It was a wild pitch. An accident.”
She looked at the woman by the window.
“Mom, this is Eddie Rhodes,” she said. “My mother, Eddie.”
Eddie met the woman’s eyes. They were brown, wide, and cold.
“I know,” she replied stiffly before Eddie could speak. “I recognized him the minute he stepped into the room.”
Her voice chilled him, and Eddie felt like turning around and walking out. But an inner voice compelled him to stay—at least
for a little while longer.
“Hi, Mrs. Monahan,” he said quietly.
“You’re the one who almost ran into me with your bike,” Phyllis broke in. “You, and another kid.”
“Yes,” he said, then frowned, slightly piqued. “Look, you don’t think I did that on purpose, too, do you?”
She tightened her lips.
“I don’t know. But you seem to cause the most peculiar accidents and they all happen to me.”
He shook his head. “I know. But they
were
accidents. Especially hitting you on the head. I’m pretty wild at times. It’s not the first time I’ve thrown a pitch like
that.”
“Then you shouldn’t pitch!” Mrs. Monahan snapped angrily.
Both Eddie and Phyllis looked around at her. She had gotten off her chair, and was standing there; her eyes glittered.
“If you know you’re a wild pitcher, you shouldn’t be pitching. You should know better, and your coachshould know better,” she said hotly. “What if she hadn’t been wearing that helmet?
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