We reached the stairs, and I couldn’t stay quiet.
“How were your classes this morning?”
She took a moment to answer. It seemed like I had pulled her out of some other thought she was having.
“Oh, they were fine. Got to teach participles.”
“Fun stuff.”
She didn’t offer up anything else, so we made our way in silence to the lunchroom. I pointed her in the direction of the teachers line and made my way to the table. A few of the other teachers had already seated themselves in their regular spots, and I threw my keys down on to the table in front of a chair with open chairs on either side. This wasn’t my usual spot, but I was hoping no one would say anything.
I met up with her in line and we walked back to the table together. Baked Ziti was the special for the day, and we both were given a heaping mound of it.
We sat at the table, and I introduced her to the other teachers. Everyone exchanged pleasantries and got back to their food.
“So, are you from the area?” Kenneth Maxwell, the 9th grade history teacher asked, between bites from his salad.
“No, actually. We just moved here over the summer. July, to be exact.”
Oh okays and Oh wows went up around the table.
“How do you like the humidity?”
“My skin likes it,” she laughed, along with the other ladies at the table, “but my hair is still not convinced.”
“Where did you move here from?”
The nice thing about sitting here amongst all the other teachers was all the questions they were asking were questions that I had wanted to ask myself. But, if I had come out and asked all of them to her it would have certainly come across as creepy.
“We lived in Denver.”
More Oh wows.
“I love Denver, such a lovely city,” Jessica Lamb, the 10th grade history teacher said. “Beautiful sunsets, if I remember correctly.”
“Yeah, it was a really pretty place to live.”
“So, what brought you guys out here?”
She squirmed a little. “My husband got a job here.”
“Oh really? What does he do?”
There was silence at the table, and I wasn’t sure if she had heard the question or was avoiding it.
Finally, she said, “He works for the Rays.”
More Oh wows.
“What does he do with them? Marketing? My friend’s husband is one of the guys who calls people asking if they want to renew their season tickets.”
“No, he isn’t in marketing.”
“Well?” I asked, “What does he do? If he’s one of the cotton candy vendors, I will be sure to find his section.”
Everyone laughed and she cracked a smile.
“He’s a pitcher.”
The table got silent, and the teachers all exchanged glances. Then more Oh wows.
“Really? Your husband is a pitcher for the Rays?”
“Yeah, he got traded here over the summer.”
“So, he played for the Rockies before you moved?”
She nodded.
“What’s his name?” Kenneth asked.
“Marco Batista.”
I was pretty sure that nobody else at the table knew anything about baseball and wouldn’t have had a clue who Marco Batista was. But they all nodded and smiled and acted like they did and like he was the most famous player around. I knew who he was and felt sick to my stomach.
Marco had been in the league for a while, and I was pretty sure he started in Detroit. He had been one of the league’s best relief men for quite a few seasons, a left-handed specialist who was brought in to get guys out before the team’s closer would come in to shut it down. But, he was a hothead. Notoriously so. Now, he wasn’t the pitcher he had once been, and when the Rays had traded for him, sports writers in the area had been pissed. All the sports talk radio shows had been bitching about it for days, wondering why we needed someone like him on our team. He had a fiery temper, which had served him well when he was younger and throwing hard. But now that his velocity had diminished and he was getting hit a lot more, his temper turned into tirades on the mound. People often referred to him as The Headhunter, a pitcher who purposely threw at the batters’ heads. Everyone who followed baseball had players they automatically liked and disliked, and I had always severely disliked Marco Batista. God, I was feeling nauseous.
“Well, that’s really neat,” Kenneth said. “We are really glad you are here with us, and maybe we can meet your husband sometime.”
She said thank you and smiled, before returning to her lunch.
Now, It made sense to me why she had lunch by the stadium yesterday, and why she said her husband was going to be leaving town. The last game of the Rays’ nine-game homestand had been the night before, and after the game they had flown to Boston, where they would be for a couple of nights. I didn’t usually make a habit of watching Rays’ games while they were on the road (my team has always been, and will always be, the Atlanta Braves), but I had a feeling I’d find myself watching tonight.