The trunk to the Galaxie slammed with a heavy thud. The duffel bag and both suitcases fit easily, and, as Austin set a cooler with some drinks and snacks on the passenger seat, he realized the big inside of the Galaxie, on this very long trip, would be a bit lonely.

He wanted to get out early, ahead of a snowstorm said to be gaining on the area, and he hoped to spend the night in North Carolina. It was 500-plus miles, so he was sure he could do it. But he didn’t want to be exhausted when he got there and, frankly, he just wanted to get going.

Joseph and Kara were leaving today as well, a late morning flight. They wished him luck, Joseph locking Austin in a big bear hug. “Keep your head on right and you’ll be fine,” Joseph told him. Austin knew what he meant…it wasn’t a fear of Austin getting caught up in being a ballplayer, but that he didn’t want him getting too high or, more precisely, too low, with whatever happened in Florida.

His mother came close, but didn’t cry as Austin was sure she would. She didn’t want to let go of their hug, didn’t want to say goodbye, so she just held him. “We’re just a call away, always,” she said softly. “I know, Mom.” he replied, squeezing her in return before she let him loose.

Philip didn’t know exactly what to say. He wanted to say something profound, but he didn’t want a drawn out goodbye. But he knew if he tried to act like he wasn’t feeling as he was, and if he didn’t say so, he’d regret it. They stood next to the car, Philip leaning on top of the hood as Austin shuffled his feet.

“I left some gas money in the glovebox,” Philip said. “It’s not much, but it should get you there.”

“Thanks,” Austin replied softly.

The two stood silently, the others watching them with a flurry of mixed emotions, sad knowing how hard their goodbye was, but finding humor in the two men desperately wanting to have a full-blown man-cry but not wanting to be the first to initiate it. So instead they stood there, awkwardly, a feeling that, until recent months, they never experienced with each other.

As he often did, Philip caught himself in his behavior and determined to right the ship. He put his hand on the back of Austin’s neck, massaging it firmly. “You’re gonna do great, Dukes,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”

“You know what, Dad,” Austin replied. “So am I. It’s the only way I can pay you back.”

Philip laughed unintentionally. “You surely don’t need to pay me back for anything,” he said.

“You’re why I’m here, Dad. Why I have this opportunity.”

“Well, your mother had something to do with it too,” Philip replied, eliciting a chuckle and blush from his youngest son.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do, son,” Philip said. “But YOU are why you’re here. And YOU are why you’ll go wherever you end up.”

The two looked at each other for the first time in the discussion.

“Through your life, Austin, we will always be behind you or beside you, to catch you if you slip or walk with you into whatever awaits,” his father said. “But we will never, EVER, walk ahead of you. You don’t need us to, and I can’t remember a time when you did.”

Austin hugged his father tight, having welled up sufficiently now. Philip reciprocated both the hug and the tears.

“I love you, Dad,” Austin said, muffled by his father’s shoulder.

“I love you, too, son,” Philip replied. “And I completely stole that ‘walk behind you’ line from your mother.”

The two laughed heartily as Margaret, Joseph and Kara came closer again for one last group hug.

“I’ll call when I stop tonight,” Austin said, walking around the Galaxie and opening the driver’s side door.

He got in, adjusted the mirrors and started the car. With a smile, a wave and a deep, deep sigh, he was ready…and he was gone.

It was 2 a.m. before Austin went to bed. His bags were packed and
downstairs already. He paced his room in search of anything else he
needed to take care of, a bundle of nervous energy. There’s an odd
feeling that results from the mix of fear and eagerness. Austin
couldn’t describe it, but he knew the feeling.

The night went well. Mom made her famous chicken parmigiana, Austin’s
all-time favorite. Dad gave Austin the keys to the Galaxie, the Great
White Hope as they called it. It would be a two-day drive to Florida,
but Dad guaranteed the car would make it, and it would be a piece of
home for Austin to have with him.

He reached into his bag, grabbing three balls – one from each of his high school no-hitters – and put them back on his dresser. They don’t mean anything now he thought to himself. It’s time to move on

And so it was. He’d be up at the crack of dawn, just a few hours from
now, and be on the road. The night was surprisingly free of sentiment,
by design from all fronts, Austin thought, to make it easier. And why
shouldn’t it be easy? This was a hopeful occasion, hope for a future he
so desperately wanted and that everyone wanted for him.

Austin was tired of worrying, tired of regrets and second-guessing and
questioning every move he’d made for the last few months. And, he was
convinced, even if they never said so, his doing that made everyone
around him do it as well. His father, always so sure of everything,
seemed to doubt every move he’d made the second after he’d made it, out
of fear it was the wrong decision for Austin. Nobody should need to
live like that anymore, when what had been given to him was such good
fortune.

Never feel guilty about being fortunate, son…makes it damn hard to be happy

Those words came back to him again. No more guilt.

He was happy and, he realized as he lay down to sleep, he was ready.

His pace was significantly slower than it had been earlier that
morning. Austin grabbed some socks and underwear from the dresser
drawer, casually dropping them into the duffel bag.

“I’m sorry,” his father said from the doorway.

“For what?” Austin replied, feeling bad that his father, after all he had done for him, even felt the need to apologize.

“I’ve acted like I’ve let you fight your own battles, Austin,” he
began. “But I haven’t. I’ve been looking to protect you this whole
time, steer you a certain way.”

Philip paused as Austin turned to face him. His father looked pained,
and not from the gash on his arm that was bleeding through the gauze
wrap his mother had just taped to it. Philip felt he had hindered his
son’s independence…he had become controlling, something he never
intended and, frankly, Austin didn’t agree was true.

“You were looking out for me, Dad,” Austin said.

“Was I?” Philip asked, doubting himself. “Or was I doing it for me, so
I could feel I had protected you. That’s my job, after all. To protect
and take care of my kids.”

His face looked sullen, a look Austin had never seen come over him.

“And nobody has ever done it better, Dad,” Austin said softly, stepping
toward his father, who didn’t look up from the floor. He always taught
Austin to look someone in the eye when talking with them, and Philip
always practiced it…always. But not now.

“Dad, I’m not leaving because I’m mad at you,” Austin said. “I’m leaving because I’m ready to…because YOU made me ready to.”

With that, Philip looked up.

“You are so strong Austin,” he said with a pitch at one point that
visibly embarrassed him. “So damn strong. I just can’t take anyone
making you out to be anything less than you are.”

“And I love you for that, Dad,” Austin replied. “You’re an incredible
father, and the only reason I am ready to do this, the only reason I
have a sense of right and wrong that makes me question my actions. This
isn’t going to be easy, but I’m ready to go on my own and see what I
can do. And I’m ready BECAUSE of you.”

Austin hugged his father tightly, the two embraced, wrapped in the love of their relationship and the fear of their separation.

“Just stay ’til morning,” Philip asked of his son. “It’ll kill mom if you leave in a flash like this.”

Philip hated being disingenuous, and on the rare occasions he was, he remedied it quickly. This was no exception.

“I want you to stay,” he said.

Austin smiled. “Sure thing, Dad. For mom.”

Philip laughed, grabbing Austin around the neck, as the two headed downstairs for Austin’s final night home.

There wasn’t a word on the way home. Joseph felt out of place
intervening, and realized his brother and father were both overwhelmed
by what had occurred. There was no fitting response at the moment, and
Joseph was always one to stay away from pointless conversation.

Austin was conflicted. He loved his father’s loyalty to him, to his
family. But he could understand Warren Traxler’s perspective, his
oldest son now half deaf, half blind and deformed, perhaps, for life.
Hell, that was what his father was trying to protect him from, so he
could surely comprehend the devastation Traxler felt at his son’s
misfortune.

Which was exactly Philip’s perspective. That Warren Traxler did not
have the opportunity to protect his son was unfortunate, but thoroughly
not Philip’s concern. He knew the dangers, he knew the risks, and
circumstance provided Austin an out, and him a means by which to
protect him. Would he not be doing his son a disservice by failing to
protect him from a knowingly dangerous situation?

Still, Philip knew Austin was rattled by the experience, and that he
would feel a certain shame in Michael’s remarks to him as they were
leaving. Austin’s compassion was a wonderful quality, but compassion,
Philip was well aware, often blinded people to reality.

“Don’t worry about what he said, son,” Philip said softly as they approached their home.

Austin hung his head. “You didn’t have to do that, Dad. They’ve been through a lot.”

“None of which you are responsible for,” Philip replied, snapping
somewhat, unintentionally. “Learn now, Austin, ‘guts’ is usually
something people throw around to make themselves feel better.”

“Christ, Dad,” Austin said, “if half my head had been blown off I’d be saying something to make myself feel better, too.”

Philip grabbed Austin by the shoulders. “What happened to Traxler’s boy
is unfortunate, but it didn’t happen because of ‘guts,’ it happened
because of circumstance. Because he was told to go to this war with no
way out of it.”

Joseph watched, desperately wanting to say something, but holding his
tongue, pained as he watched his brother and father struggle.

“Austin, you did NOTHING wrong,” Philip said, looking deeply, almost
sadly at his son. “Please stop destroying yourself over this war.”

“I’m not destroyed by it,” Austin said. “Michael was destroyed by it.
His life, his family, were destroyed by it. Like hundreds, thousands of
others. And I should have been there. I should be there now.”

He paused for a moment as they reached the walkway to their home.

“Instead I’m going to play a game.”

“You’re going to live your dream,” Philip said emphatically. “Why can’t you embrace that?”

“Because others lost their dreams on a battlefield I was supposed to be on.”

Joseph had heard enough.

“Says WHO?” he shot at Austin. “Who the hell said you were ‘supposed’
to be there? Not everything that happens, little brother, is supposed
to. Sometimes it just IS…it is what it is.”

Joseph was frustrated that what was so eloquent in his head came out so…well, not.

“You talk about what you’re supposed to do, where you’re supposed to
be,” Philip said. “That day at Shea, you told Blanchard ‘I belong
here.’ Well if you do, then make it happen and stop beating yourself up
by confusing selfishness with self preservation.”

Austin walked in small circles on the lawn, looking up at nothing in particular. Joseph put his arm around him.

“You were right, A.J.,” he said. “It’s time.”

Philip looked at them both, confused, as Margaret and Kara came out the
front door, both pausing as they saw the blood on Philip’s hands and
shirt.

“Time for what?” he asked.

Austin hugged his brother and headed inside.

“For him to go,” Joseph answered. “It’s time for him to go.”

By the time he heard Philip behind him it was too late.

Traxler had his head under the hood of his truck when Philip, no
questions asked, swatted the support rod, sending the hood crashing
down upon Traxler’s head and upper back. He grunted as his breath left
him, before he was grabbed by the shirt and thrown violently to the
ground in his driveway.

“My boy did NOTHING to you,” Philip barked, his face swelled with red rage.

Traxler had yet to get his bearings, looking up at Philip and realizing
his actions of that morning may not have been his most intelligent
move. He rolled onto his knees, pushing himself up, before Philip
kicked him squarely in the ribs, flipping him and sending him into the
fetal position on the blacktop.

“If you were in my shoes,” Philip snapped, practically frothing at the mouth, “you would do the same thing.”

Traxler spit out a stream of blood, rolling into a narrow space between
his car and the edge of his driveway, framed by walls from the
embankment into their garage. Philip stalked around the edge before
noticing Traxler had gotten his hands on a large screwdriver. He
pointed it at Philip, shuffling backwards along the ground.

“I DIDN’T have that chance,” Traxler shouted, his sweatshirt streaked in blood.

“That’s not my fault,” Philip shot back. “And it sure as HELL isn’t my son’s.”

Traxler rose to his feet, awkwardly waving the screwdriver toward Philip.

“Your son is a coward, James, and a disgrace…”

Philip lunged toward him, a stabbing pain across his forearm felt but
not a focus as he knocked Traxler back to the ground. Philip knelt
across Traxler’s broad chest – he was a thick man, as was Philip – and
threw a series of piston-like right hands.

Traxler’s nose crumbled, gushing blood, with Philip in such a state he
didn’t even realize it. Nor had he heard the desperate calls of Austin
and Joseph as they grabbed him from behind, pulling him off Traxler,
whose face was now a crimson mask.

“Jesus Christ, Dad,” Austin exclaimed. “What did you do?”

“Nobody…” Philip gasped, “NOBODY disrespects my family.”

“What the hell?” called a voice from the garage.

Austin, Joseph and Philip looked up to see Michael Traxler, having just
entered the garage from a door that led into the house. His buzzed
blond hair barely noticeable, partly due to lack of light and partly
due to it not being the focus of his viewers.

The left side of Michael’s face was bandaged heavily. The wrap opened
near his eye, darkly discolored with the white not visible, and it was
clear the skin around the eye was not right. There was padding over his
ear, held by the wrap. He stepped toward his father, still on the
ground, and came out of the garage.

Michael’s father got to his feet, his right eye swollen and his nose a
warped mess. Blood that had pooled in his mouth dripped from the side.

“8 ****in’ days he was there….8 DAYS!!!” the battered man cried at the James men.

A land mine had tore into Michael’s troop on a routine, if there was
such an animal, walk along a road that cut a swath through a rice
field. Three were killed and Michael would lose his left ear and, at
this point, about 75% of the vision in his left eye. His face was
deformed, skin dangled in some spots quite awkwardly, and his hope was
that a series of surgeries would at least be able to make him look
somewhat human again.

Warren – his father – never had the chance to keep him home. Nobody
screwed up his paperwork. They just gave him a gun and orders he
understood with a purpose he didn’t.

“Come on, Dad,” Michael said softly, corralling his father in his arm
and guiding him into the house. At the doorway in the garage, Michael
turned toward Austin, Joseph and their father.

“Someday you’ll tell your kids you courageously stood up against the
war,” he said. “And may lightning strike your gutless *** down when you
do.”

With that, Michael entered his house, and the James men walked slowly, silently, toward home.

“What are you doing?” Joseph asked in a disbelieving tone.

Austin had his father’s old duffel bag on his bed, and was loading clothes and his baseball gear into it furiously.

“Leaving,” Austin snapped. “That’s what I’m doing…leaving.”

Joseph grabbed the wooden highback chair from Austin’s desk and swung it around, straddling the seat backward.

“You don’t have housing there yet,” Joseph replied. “You’ve got no way to get there yet…”

“Got feet and a thumb, bro,” Austin said matter-of-factly.

“There’s nothing THERE yet.”

Austin glared at his brother. “And there’s nothing HERE now.”

He grabbed a bunch of t-shirts from the bottom drawer and threw them, dismantling the folds, into the bag.

“If I get crapped on in Florida or around the country, I’ll deal with
that,” Austin barked. “But I sure as hell am not going to sit here in
my hometown and have people peppering mom and dad’s house with this
****. Besides, nobody around the country will care about this unless I
make it. If they care, it means I’m succeeding.”

Joseph laughed a bit, which unnerved Austin. “You have an interesting way of looking at things, little brother.”

Joseph stood up. “Let me tell you something…you’re going to get a lot
more of this, a LOT more. And it doesn’t matter where you go. Someone’s
going to pick up on this and write about it, and someone’s going to
pick up on that and dig on it. And then people will want to talk to
you, ask questions.”

Austin glared at his brother. “You’re really helping to make me feel better, Joe.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel better, I want you to know what the
hell you’re getting into. Because I want to see you succeed, I want to
see you in the big leagues, living your dream. But if that’s going to
happen, you better be prepared to deal with the hassles that are coming
your way, because it won’t stop here…not today, and not this town.”

“I’M GONNA KILL HIM,” they heard Philip bellow from downstairs,
followed by their mother calling desperately for him. “Philip… NO!!!”

Austin and Joseph ran down the stairs as fast as they could.

“Mom,” Joseph called. “What happened?”

“Your father…Dr. Rubin said he saw Mr. Traxler throw it this morning
from his car…his son is in the war,” Marge explained, gasping for
air. “He’s going over there now.”

Philip’s fuse was long, except with regard to his family. One thought was clear in Austin’s head.

If he finds him, he’ll kill him

Kara had run to the store for Austin’s mother quickly, and Philip had
the other car. Austin and Joseph bolted out the front door, running for
their lives and, they were convinced, for Mr. Traxler’s.

Mom had scrambled eggs, bacon and hash browns ready for everyone the next morning. The boys slept in a bit, Kara, too, though she awoke for an early morning jog through the neighborhood. By 9, they were all seated around the kitchen table.

“Better eat up, little brother,” Joseph said with a wry smile.

Tearing into a piece of bacon, Austin laughed. “Oh really? And why is that?”

“Well, I always wondered how I would have fared against a big leaguer,” his brother replied. “And now I can find out.”

Philip laughed, Kara too, though Margaret shook her head. “Now, boys.”

“Aw mom,” Joseph chuckled. “I’m just messin’ with him. But it would be cool to play ball with my brother.”

“You got it, bro,” Austin replied.

Kara smiled. “Boys will be boys, mom.”

Everyone froze. Mom? Kara’s jaw dropped. It wasn’t intentional, it wasn’t even a though…it just came naturally to call Margaret that now. But nobody was sure how mom, old fashioned as she was, would take it.

She got up from her seat, walked to Kara and hugged her tightly. “She called me MOM,” she said, emphasis on ‘Mom’, beaming with joy and starting to cry.

“Oh, for the love of crumb cake already,” Philip blurted with a smile. “You’re such a mush.”

The boys laughed.

“You hush your mouth,” Margaret snapped jokingly, Kara smiling but seeking air from mom’s crunching hug.

“You’re strangling the child, Marge,” Philip said, Margaret loosening her grip with a smile, wiping her eyes and sitting back down, whacking Philip with her napkin.

There was a thud against the door.

“Paper’s here,” Austin observed as he rose to get a new container of orange juice from the fridge.

He walked to the front door.

“I’ll head up to the school with you,” Philip said, wanting desperately to play ball with his boys like the old days.

“Well this ‘mom’ is taking her new daughter shopping,” Margaret replied, beaming.

“****,” yelled Austin from the front door, sending the others scrambling.

“What is it, Dukes,” his father asked.

The crowd gathered as Austin looked down on the porch. A G.I. Joe action figure rested on the porch, the glass screen on the front door cracked from its impact. The figure was smeared with feces, with a string tied to it and a sign taped to that.

“Don’t **** on my son, Draft Dodger” it read.

Austin couldn’t take his eyes off of it as Philip blasted through the front door toward to street, looking for whoever might have thrown the shot, but to no avail. He stormed back onto the porch, his eyes meeting Austin’s.

“Already?” Austin asked, to no one in particular. He hung his head and with an “excuse me,” retreated up the stairs to the solitude of his room.

“Hey, kid,” the smoky voice with the southern tinge said across the wire. “Welcome to the club.”

Blanchard’s joy rivaled Austin’s, and it was clear in his tone.

“Thank you, sir, for everything,” Austin replied.

“No need to thank me,” Blanchard said. “You did the work. I just got you in the door. But now we’ve got work to do.”

Austin nodded at the phone, his parents watching on from the dining room table.

“You will report to St. Petersburg on February 16th,” Blanchard said. “You will remain a student, so whatever you have to do as far as St. John’s, transferring, whatever, you need to get it done.”

Austin’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Hardly,” Blanchard replied. “You need to have something else that stands a chance of covering you from the military draft, and student status could at least be used to drag out the argument.”

Austin was shocked, slumping back to lean against the corner where the refridgerator met the short wall of the entranceway.

“How the hell am I supposed to be a student and play ball?” he asked. “The university will never allow it.”

“Austin,” Blanchard said. “You had to know this was going to come with conditions. If we can’t meet these, there’s no way Grant will sign off on a contract. There needs to at least be a shot he can protect his investment.”

“And what about a shot I can protect my sanity,” Austin shot back.

He sighed deeply. “Mr. Blanchard, I don’t mean to play the ingrate, but how do I work toward being a major league pitcher when I’m supposed to be a full-time student, busing around the country…”

“You’ve got a tough road ahead, kid,” Blanchard replied. “You’re getting three grand to sign…”

Blanchard paused to let Austin digest the number, which right now was just an added blur.

“You’re getting a shot…and let’s face it, that’s a hell of a lot better than getting shot at.”

Neither party spoke for a moment, Blanchard awaiting a response and Austin’s head suddenly processing Three grand…as in thousand?

“Do what you need to do, Austin,” Blanchard said. “I’ve done all I can.”

Confused, as seemed to be his everpresent state the past few months, Austin thanked Blanchard again for everything.

“You want to thank me, son?” Blanchard asked. “Come down here in a month, be ready to go, and bust your ***. I’ll see you then.”

Blanchard was off the line, and Austin was left to prepare for the ride of his life.

Austin burst through the back door, his father behind him, both laughing. Philip grabbed a Coke from the refrigerator door, flipped another bottle — oh, how Margaret hated when they did that — to Austin and walked together into the living room.

There, sipping coffee with the TV on, was Margaret.

“There are my guys,” she said sweetly. “How’d it go?”

“Dad took a fastball in the jewels,” Austin blurted, falling with laughter onto the couch.

A stunned Margaret looked at Philip, who grinned.

“Snowball, dear. The field was in no shape, and I didn’t want him throwing in the cold anyway.”

Austin continued to laugh, burying his face in the pillow in a delirious state. Philip reached inside his jacket as he made his way to the couch. He pounced on Austin’s back, pulling out a snowball from his pocket and sticking it down the back of his sweatshirt. Austin laughed, squirming with chills, as Philip mashed the snowball into his bare back.

Philip got up, winking at Margaret who watched them with joy. “He who laughs last, Dukes.”

Austin sat up in the corner of the couch before leaning back.

“Won’t have to worry about this in Florida,” he said.

His father nodded. “True…you’ll be able to throw whenever you want. And run, too. LOTS of running.”

Austin figured he had about a month, maybe a little longer, before he needed to report to spring training in St. Petersburg. The thought of leaving home, out on his own, was daunting, but right now he felt he could handle anything.

“John Sloan called to wish you luck,” Margaret said.

“Good man,” Philip observed. “He’d have done right by you.”

Austin nodded, appreciative of Sloan’s certainly unneeded gesture. But his mind was racing about what was next. He’d need a place to live…would he be getting meal money from the team…MONEY!!!

“I wonder what the offer is,” he thought aloud. “Though I certainly can’t be picky.”

His answer was coming. As the phone rang, he could smell Blanchard’s cigar in his head, certain he was on the other end.

On the fourth ring, Austin grabbed the phone.

“Hello,” he answered softly, his decision still whirling about his head.

“Austin?” asked the voice, familiar but it didn’t sound like Sloan.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Son…Welcome to the Mets!”

Austin dropped the phone, stammering for words.

“What is it, son?” his father asked.

“Austin?” his mom called, stepping slowly to him.

“The Mets…it’s the Mets, dad. WELCOME TO THE METS!!!!”

Austin leapt in the air, hugging his parents before whirling around to
pick up the phone, dangling from the wall, knocking against the
concrete with each swing.

“Hello…” he called frantically. “Hello?”

“Glad you’re enthused,” said the voice on the other end. “Jesse wanted
to call himself, but I needed him to consult on something,” the man
said, Austin now realizing it was Scheffing. “He’ll be in touch later.”

“Yes, sir,” Austin said.

“We have a lot of particulars to hammer out here, Austin,” Scheffing
said. “You’re going to have a lot of demands on you, given the risk
we’re taking here.”

“I realize that, sir,” he replied.

“I’ll let Jesse talk more with you later. Welcome again, Austin. And good luck.”

And with a thank you from Austin, Scheffing was gone.

It was a frozen moment. Minutes earlier he had beaten himself up for
the greed of wanting this. Would he be a hypocrite now if he accepted
it and took it? Would the easy way out be just to say his earlier
comments were out of frustration and emotion and, thus, could easily be
discarded?

Yes.

But his father’s statement was resonating. Don’t feel guilty for being fortunate.

He had plenty of life left to have unfortunate events occur. And nobody
would just make them disappear, so why should he give this up?

“Dad!”

His father, with his arm around Margaret, smiled at him.

“Yes, son.”

“Wanna play catch?”

His father laughed, flexing his injured hand.

“I think I can do that.”

With a kiss for his mom, Austin bolted up the stairs, his father close
behind. And Margaret looked to the heavens and wept proudly, with a
thank you to above.