The God's Eye View

CHAPTER 15

Evie was at the Camden Yards Orioles game with Dash when they met the strange man.

They were sitting in the highest section of the ballpark, overlooking left field — too far to make out the numbers on the various players’ uniforms, though Dash knew all their positions by heart anyway. Dash had explained this was a really important game, because it was against the Orioles’ rivals the Yankees, and because if the Orioles won, it meant they were the division champions. Evie didn’t really care what it all meant, but if Dash was excited, then so was she.

And indeed, it was hard not to get caught up in the fervor of the day. The ballpark was packed and raucous, the cheering crowds throwing up delirious wave after wave after wave, and the score was close all the way to the top of the ninth, when the Yankees had pulled ahead by two runs. Now the Orioles were at bat, with runners on second and third, two outs, and a guy named Manny something at the plate. He had three balls and two strikes, and the entire ballpark was on its collective feet, pumping its fists and chanting his name. Dash was signing to her furiously that Manny was under pressure now, because if he got another strike the game was over and the Orioles would lose. But if he was walked or got a hit, it could set up an actual grand slam, something Dash had never seen before. And if Manny himself hit a home run, it would be a walk-off and the Orioles would have won. His expression was so earnest and his signing so passionate that she could have swooned from love for him. She nodded as he regaled her with statistics and history, understanding only some of it, showing him with her tightly crossed fingers that she knew how important it all was.

The Yankee pitcher shook his head, shook it again, and finally nodded at whatever the catcher had signaled him. The crowd was suddenly quiet, everyone leaning forward, fists clenched, hands held over mouths, the collective focus electrifying, galvanizing. Then the pitcher brought his lead knee up, twisted, and exploded forward, his arm trailing behind his body and then whipping past him like a flail, and the ball rocketed toward the plate and Manny swung, and there was a CRACK! Evie could hear like thunder all the way in the stands, and the ball shot skyward, taking off like a rocket, like a missile, and the crowd screamed, and the ball sailed over the shortstop and the left fielder and it was still ascending, and the crowd’s scream became a roar of ecstasy, and the people around them scrambled onto their seats to get even higher, higher, because the ball was still coming, flying over the first tier, the second, and it was heading right toward them.

A man in front of her shoved the guy to his left and the guy fell, cursing. She watched the ball and her heart leaped — was it really coming straight for Dash? Dash was watching, too, his gloved hand held as high as his arm could stretch. But then she saw that no, the ball was too high, and she wished she could have thrown Dash in the air to catch it. A man actually dove from one of the higher seats to try to get a better position; there was a scream, a scuffle broke out. Someone spilled beer on her from behind and someone else nearly knocked Dash over. He grabbed her arm and they managed to stay on their feet.

She turned, and in the midst of the tumult, she saw a man just behind them, a big, solid-looking man in jeans, a dark flannel shirt, and an Orioles cap, watching the ball descend with a quiet intensity. Someone shoulder-checked the man from the left to try to displace him, but it had no more effect than if the man had been a tree. Someone on his right held up a gloved hand and tried to force himself into the space in front of the man, but the man simply moved forward slightly and the interloper fell back. Then there was a firm smack as the man caught the ball in an enormous, outstretched hand. The force of the impact drove the man’s arm back, but somehow he held on to the ball. Evie, amazed, thought, Ouch! The people behind the man and to his sides all began grabbing at his arm, heedless of the fact that he had clearly caught the ball and it was his, it was over, but the man simply extended his arm beyond their reach and pushed them away left and right with his free hand as easily as if he were brushing off flies. His expression never changed and he was unnervingly calm, even when someone pulled so hard at his shirt that the sleeve tore at the shoulder.

After a few seconds, a semblance of reason seemed to restore itself. The people who had been so frenzied a moment before went back to their seats and returned their focus to the field, where Manny was jogging the bases to the delirious roar of the cheering, stamping crowd.

Evie glanced at Dash to make sure he was all right. Dash was smiling at the man, a bright, generous, innocent smile, and Evie knew it meant Congratulations, you caught the ball. And she loved him for it, because he didn’t have a selfish bone in his body, he was actually happy for this stranger in the Orioles cap, even though just a moment earlier he had so badly wanted that ball for himself.

The man was looking down at Dash with a strange expression — Recognition? Sympathy? Puzzlement? She wasn’t sure. And then the man squatted, extended his arm, and held out the ball to Dash.

Dash’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. Then he shook his head as though afraid to believe the man was serious. The man extended his arm further and pointed to Dash with his free hand, then to the ball, indicating, Here, it’s yours. It was the oddest thing — it was as though the man knew Dash was deaf. Well, of course, he must have seen them signing. But it felt like more than that, some deeper level of understanding.

Dash looked to her, his eyes beseeching. She badly wanted to accept the stranger’s kindness, but it was too much — she didn’t know baseball the way Dash did, but that ball was going to be worth a lot on eBay. She shook her head and with a reluctant smile said to the man, “It’s so nice of you, but really, we couldn’t.”

But the man didn’t retract his arm. He simply glanced at Dash and raised his eyebrows, the expression conveying, Are you sure?

Dash looked at her again, his eyes such a torment of longing she couldn’t have said no for all the politeness in the world. She hesitated for a second more, then nodded and said, “Okay.”

Dash was so happy he clenched his fists and jumped up and down. He took the ball reverently from the man’s outstretched hand and said in his slightly slurred voice, “Thank you thank you thank you!”

The man nodded. And then signed, You’re welcome.

Dash was so flabbergasted that for a moment he forgot he was holding the ball and tried to sign back. He hooted and shoved the ball off to Evie, who herself was so surprised she almost dropped it.

You know sign? Dash signed.

Yes, the man signed back. I’m deaf.

So am I!

I know. I saw you signing with your mother. You sign better than she does.

Dash laughed. Yes, I always tell her that.

The man smiled. There was something… wistful about it, as though his face was unaccustomed to the expression, as though he distrusted the feeling behind it.

Dash signed, Why did you give me the ball?

You looked like you wanted it.

But don’t you want it, too?

Not as much as you do.

Evie was watching the exchange, dumbfounded. Then, remembering herself, she placed the ball in her bag and signed, Thank you. That was really nice of you.

The man shook his head, as though embarrassed by their gratitude, and stood.

Evie had to admit, she liked his looks. About forty, she guessed. With sandy brown hair and a darker stubble of beard. She stole a glance at his left hand and noted the absence of a ring. There was something intriguing, and appealing, about how calm he’d been while all those people tried to get the ball away from him. She liked his smile — and that odd reluctance, or sadness, she sensed behind it. And of course it was hard not to be blown away by how nice he’d just been to Dash, and by how Dash had responded. She was always nervous about dating because she’d heard so many horror stories about pedophiles using single mothers to get to their children. But everything in life involved some risk, right? And besides, she had ways of checking up on dates most people could only dream about.

Without thinking it through any further and before she lost her nerve, she signed, We were going to get a hot dog on Eutaw Street. Would you like to join us?

It’s nice of you, the man signed, but I don’t want to intrude.

Are you sure? It’s no intrusion.

The man glanced down for a moment, his expression conflicted. She sensed he wanted to accept her invitation, and tried to figure out what could be behind his reluctance. Was he just being polite? Did he sense her attraction, but not share it?

Dash touched the man’s knee, and when the man looked at him, signed, Don’t you like hot dogs?

The man looked momentarily perplexed. Everyone likes hot dogs, he signed.

Then why don’t you come with us?

The man’s hands floated for a moment, seemingly stuck. He looked at Evie as though for help.

Come on, she signed, smiling. Let me buy you a hot dog. Just a small thank-you for being so nice.