Scout's Honor. Stephanie Doyle
companion during a dark time who seemed to make it all so easy for Scout, Sarah had given simple, clear directions that Scout had followed ruthlessly.
A drop of morphine every six hours. Then two drops, then three drops. Then three drops every three hours, two hours and one hour as required by the pain.
Slowly and gently easing Duff’s way.
Duff had been spared what the nurse had told her could be truly awful pain. He’d been lucky in that regard. Or maybe the whole thing had gone easier for him because he hadn’t had any thought of fighting death.
He’d said it every day until the day he stopped speaking: “Sad to go, but the game has to end.”
His game ended four days and two hours ago.
Standing at this grave site, Scout could see she was wearing a black coat over a black dress, except she had no idea how she’d gotten here. Really no idea what had happened in these past four days.
She thought she remembered falling...
“Scout, it’s done,” Lane said now, approaching her cautiously. She wrapped an arm around Scout’s waist for comfort and perhaps steadiness. Had she hurt her head when she’d fallen? Is that why she couldn’t remember?
She tried to respond, but it felt difficult to form words in her mouth.
“Okay.” It was conceivable that had been the first thing she’d said in the past four days.
“We need to go back to the stadium.”
Jocelyn Taft Wright, the owner of the Minotaur Falls Triple A baseball team and stadium, had decided Duff Baker’s funeral reception should be held there. After all it was going to be a major baseball event and probably the only place in town that would hold such a large crowd of people.
Duff Baker had been a legend in the game of baseball, first as a Hall of Fame player and then as a World Series–winning manager. His time managing the Minotaurs had just been his way of retiring while still staying connected to the game. He would joke about dying in his baseball uniform. In the end it was a close thing.
So not only was the entire town planning on attending, but also a good chunk of the Major and Minor League Baseball world—Duff’s other family—would be there. Old teammates. Former players he’d coached. The current roster for the Minotaurs, a lot of the players devastated by his death. And the press, reporters all now writing what they hoped would be their epic tributes to one of the game’s best.
Heck, the commissioner of baseball was coming and planned to speak.
Scout didn’t mind. Although the pomp and circumstance were interfering with her need to hide in her closet for oh, say, the next year, she knew it was Duff’s due.
She wanted this for him. She wanted him to have the accolades and the speeches. And then when the season opened in the spring it would all start again. Duff’s daughters would be expected to make appearances at various different events. Throw out opening balls. Be there for tribute games in the cities where Duff had made his biggest impact as both a player and a manager.
They had even been called by ESPN to do a documentary on Duff and the game of baseball. Scout wasn’t ready to go there yet, but that he warranted such a tribute meant something to her.
And just the other morning she’d heard Mike and Mike on the radio offering their condolences to the Baker family. That had been nice.
“Scout, come on,” Lane said, shaking her gently. Not that it helped. Scout agreed it was time to go but she couldn’t find the energy to move. It was more numbness than anything else. As if a heavy fog had settled over her brain.
“Lane, Scout. We need to go. Now.”
The two of them looked over to their older sister, Samantha. Scout thought she looked way too pretty for a funeral. Her blond bob was perfectly slick to her chin and her stylishly thin body was wrapped in a caramel-colored coat that Scout knew felt as soft to the touch as fur but of course couldn’t be, because Samantha loved animals.
Samantha had come and gone every weekend these past few months. working desperately to repair the relationship with her father that had broken down in the years since their parents’ divorce.
It wasn’t that they fought. It’s just that she didn’t openly adore Duff the way his other two daughters did. Knowing Duff and loving Duff, Scout found that to be impossible.
How could anyone not adore Duff?
How could anyone keep a distance from him?
How was Scout supposed to survive now that he was dead?
The idea of survival without him was a doozy that kept hitting Scout at all hours of the day. It had been on her mind throughout the ordeal of his dying. It was even more persistent now that he was gone. Because there was no going back.
The finality of death was truly a bizarre thing. For three months she’d been preparing herself for the event. For three months she’d been grieving, wondering when it would finally happen. For three months she’d been looking ahead to this day knowing it would come and knowing there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop it.
She’d thought she’d accepted his loss on some level. She’d thought she had prepared herself.
How utterly stupid of her.
“She’s not moving,” Lane said.
Samantha sighed as she walked toward them.
As a rule Scout and Samantha weren’t close. During the divorce Samantha, who had been just starting college at the time, had stayed in touch regularly with their mother. Sam would even go so far as to try to convince Scout that there were two sides to every story.
Given that Scout believed her mother to be a traitorous bitch, that logic was unacceptable.
But during these last few months as Scout watched Samantha and Duff find their way, she’d been trying to be high-minded about the whole thing.
For Samantha’s part she would always pull Scout back to reality. To the present.
Scout could have hated her for that but she had needed Samantha’s discipline to get through these last few months so she could be the caregiver Duff needed her to be.
“I’m moving,” Scout mumbled. Words still felt funny in her mouth. Like what she thought she was saying wasn’t actually what people were hearing.
Lane gave her another push and then Samantha was walking in step beside her. A limo was waiting for them. Roy Walker was waiting for them there.
“She holding up?” he asked his wife.
Lane was Roy’s wife.
So crazy, Scout thought. They’d married...what was it...only six weeks ago? Lane always said she hated Roy Walker, but Scout had known. She’d always seen the truth between them.
“She’s moving, which is good,” Lane said to him. “Let’s get her in the car.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” Scout snapped.
She knew she wasn’t herself. Fine. But everyone was treating her as if she was somehow different from her two sisters, who had also lost their father. Different from everyone else who had been at the funeral and was grieving.
Why were they doing that?
“It’s the drugs,” Samantha explained to Roy and Lane.
Drugs. Of course. That’s why she felt this way. Numb and foggy. As if she had no power over her mind and body.
“You drugged me?” She asked the question of Samantha, but she could see Lane wince.
“Honey, you needed something,” Lane said, apparently defending what had obviously been Sam’s call. “It’s just a Valium to relax you. Now come on. Let’s get you in the car.”
They