Vern pointed at the neat rectangles of kids who filled the seats in a semi-circle between first and second.
“There’s going to be fireworks after, so that always gets kids.” Puppy nudged Jackson through the bullpen gate.
“Usually there are families,” Vern insisted. “Parents, kids.”
“I remember what a family is. My friends had them.”
Jackson ignored the attempt at humor. “The late fireworks will be after bedtimes. Parents are supposed to be with children then. Not soldiers.”
Puppy pounded his glove. “I think you’re reading too much into this.”
“Think so?” Vern indicated the right center field bleachers. Sure enough, there were blocks of kids, one row wearing Yankees t-shirts, the next, Cubs, alternating for ten rows; adults sat in each corner of the rectangle. Northwest corner, Yankees t-shirt. Northeast corner, Cubs. Southwest, Yankees. Southeast, Cubs. All in perfect order.
Puppy shielded his eyes against the setting sun competing with the stadium lights. Same configuration in left center. He scanned the grandstands, but they were just too far away to make it out.
“They’re there.” Vern crept into his thoughts.
“It’s a special night of significance.” Puppy grinned, a little uneasily. “Which won’t be mine if I don’t warm up.”
Vern squatted, his head twisting around at the stands. Puppy’s first pitch bounced off Jackson’s mask, getting his attention.
He warmed up for about twenty minutes, tossing easily and opening the distance until he was in his groove.
“Hey.” Vern stood as the fastball sailed past. “Save that shit.”
“I got at least four more cutters left.”
Puppy’s eyes wandered again as he waited for Jackson to retrieve the ball. Red, white and blue bunting billowed along the left and right field stands. Dale’s monsters in baseball uniforms were flying around the outfield. The Rolling Stones roared Satisfaction. From the wonderful food smells, you’d think America was a real agricultural nation again.
He stayed an extra few minutes in the bullpen before rejoining the team in the dugout, where he and Mick watched the groundskeepers sweep the field, night lazily drifting over the Bronx.
“It’s a beautiful green, right?” Puppy asked. Mick shrugged. “You’re supposed to give me some story about you and two blondes in the lush grass of the Stadium.”
“I told them all already.” Mantle leaned forward, elbows on knees, frowning.
“Something wrong?”
“Nope.”
“Sure?”
Mick looked at him. “How’s the arm?”
“The usual shit storm. What’s up, Mick?”
“I’m allowed to be serious.” Mantle kicked the bat rack and disappeared into the runway.
Everyone’s weirded out, Puppy thought, spitting sunflower seeds into his palm. Like you’re not? Dancing until dawn. Skipping two vidnews interviews so you can make yourself breakfast in Annette’s apartment and pretend to have a full blown conversation followed by a spat. Yeah, that’s sane. Or using a spare, illegal key to get into Pablo’s place and, not finding him in the clutches of a beautiful boy or girl, trudging downtown to his office, which was locked up. Thanks for abandoning me, pal, Puppy re-started that argument.
Three armed security guards slipped soundlessly into the dugout, stepping past Puppy as if he were invisible. Puppy looked across the field at more members of Artito’s detachment taking up positions in the Cubs dugout.
The HGs chased each other back into the scoreboard with demonic cackles. Suddenly the air over second base ruffled and blades whirred. The crowd grew silent. A ‘copter drifted toward home plate, touching down near the Yankees’ on-deck circle.
Grandma bounded out, waving to the hovering HG Grandma. They pretended to shake hands, bowing. The crowd cheered wildly. The security team converged by the gate to the left of the Yankees dugout and escorted Grandma to her seat, while another squad accompanied Cheng and Kenuda, whose presence generated little response; Dale hadn’t thought them important enough for HGs.
Grandma nodded to the crowd and sat down.
“So good to see you all.” The Grandma HG hovered politely over the pitcher’s mound. “This is an historic occasion, but I’m a guest just like all of you. Now make sure you eat up.” Hot dogs, pizza, tacos and popcorn with sweet faces floated into her arms. “One beer only.” A foamy cup landed on her shoulder. “And enjoy tonight. I love you all very much.”
The Grandma HG whooshed away. Into the delighted din, Mooshie strolled toward home, trailed by a five-person honor guard wearing the uniforms of the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines and Coast Guard. They presented Beth’s flag.
The soldiers stood as one and saluted, while the rest of the crowd anxiously waited to see what Grandma would do. It seemed to take a brief effort, but Grandma finally stood and saluted.
“Hi everyone,” Mooshie said. “I’m Dara Dinton.”
Roars of greetings.
“As Grandma said, this is a special night of great significance.”
Puppy burst into laughter; Ty shot him a dirty look.
“Tonight, we honor the men and women who made it possible for us to sit here and watch a baseball game. “
The stadium shook with shouts. Mooshie’s jaw tightened slightly.
“But without Grandma’s love, nothing would be possible.”
The HG Grandma returned on a flying American flag. FORGIVENESS floated through the air in wispy red, white and blue vapors. The real Grandma smiled admiringly and patted Kenuda’s knee appreciatively. The Third Cousin blushed.
“We welcome Grandma back to Yankee Stadium,” Mooshie went slightly off script. “We welcome the soldiers back to Yankee Stadium. And now we want to welcome something else back to Yankee Stadium.”
The crowd fell still again.
“It’s called The Star Spangled Banner.” The crowd shifted uneasily. “We outlawed it because folks supposedly took it too seriously.” Mooshie stared coldly at Grandma. “But now we’re forgiving all that and all those who did.”
Grandma grimaced slightly.
“This song is our anthem. This is America’s song. First, you gotta take off your caps and hats and place them over your hearts, gang, to remember those who died wearing these uniforms.” Mooshie gestured at the honor guard.
Fans craned to see Grandma’s reaction. She slowly placed her right hand over her heart. The entire stadium mimicked her.
“Everyone got that?” Mooshie asked. “‘Cause it’s the respect part. It’s the love part. For each other. For what we do
