completely. He knew that Tom Stinson and the other two writers who had been standing there might well use the quotes, but he was thinking long-term: he wanted to consult with Kelleher when he got the chance and then follow up.
Normally, the person he would have talked to first in this sort of situation was Susan Carol. That, however, was not an option, in part because they were working for different newspapers, but more because they weren’t speaking to each other very much.
The next morning the four of them took the short cab ride back to Logan Airport. The series, and everyone in it or covering it, was on its way to Washington. Stevie spent most of the flight trying to catch up on some reading for his English class and trying briefly to work on some algebra, but the math might as well have been written in Chinese, so he gave up fairly quickly. It was a beautiful day, and the plane flew straight down the Potomac River, past all the monuments as it landed.
“Pretty spectacular,” he said to Tamara, who was sitting next to him.
“On a day like this, landing here is actually fun,” she said. “In bad weather, though, it’s not fun at all because the runways are so short.”
They took another cab to Potomac, Maryland, where Bobby and Tamara lived. They had two extra bedrooms, so Stevie and Susan Carol would be staying there for the weekend. Games three, four, and five would be played at Nationals Park on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday—all night games, of course, so that TV could get the largest audience possible.
They were talking over lunch about whether there was any need to attend the off-day workouts and press conferences. Bobby and Tamara, who were writing every day withtheir local team in the World Series, had plenty for their columns, and Susan Carol and Stevie had been given the day off.
But Stevie still wanted to go to the ballpark. The clubhouses would be open while the managers and starting pitchers for the next day were in the interview room, and he thought he might be able to get some time alone with Nieves. Or even Doyle, although he suspected Doyle would be the target of a lot of writers on the off day. With no game until the next night, he was still the big story.
“I’d like to go to the park,” he said. “You never know what you’ll stumble into when there aren’t a million people in the clubhouse.”
“Spoken like a real reporter,” Kelleher said. “Tell you what, I’ll drive down there with you. I’d actually like to talk to some of the Red Sox if I can. I can write from down there if necessary.”
That was perfect as far as Stevie was concerned. The tension between him and Susan Carol was almost unbearable, and the car ride would give him a chance to talk to Kelleher alone.
They left the house with Tamara sitting at her computer and Susan Carol reading a history book.
“So I take it things aren’t any better with Susan Carol?” Kelleher said as they drove down the George Washington Parkway. It was a perfect fall day in Washington, and Stevie was struck by how pretty the area was with the leaves in full color.
“Worse,” he said. “She lied to me at first about meetingwith David yesterday, then when I told her we’d seen her, she got mad and told me she couldn’t tell me what they were talking about.”
Kelleher was silent for a moment—rare for him—as if deciding what to say next. “She flat out lied?” he asked.
“Pretty much,” Stevie said. “She said she’d gone over to Faneuil Hall and walked around the Freedom Trail but never mentioned spending time with David.”
“A lie of omission,” Kelleher said. “But a lie nonetheless.” He turned and went up the ramp onto the Fourteenth Street Bridge, and Stevie noticed they were back near Washington National Airport again.
“It wasn’t just that,” Stevie said. “She totally clammed up when I tried to ask her what they were talking about. Said it was a secret and then practically ran away from
Normally, the person he would have talked to first in this sort of situation was Susan Carol. That, however, was not an option, in part because they were working for different newspapers, but more because they weren’t speaking to each other very much.
The next morning the four of them took the short cab ride back to Logan Airport. The series, and everyone in it or covering it, was on its way to Washington. Stevie spent most of the flight trying to catch up on some reading for his English class and trying briefly to work on some algebra, but the math might as well have been written in Chinese, so he gave up fairly quickly. It was a beautiful day, and the plane flew straight down the Potomac River, past all the monuments as it landed.
“Pretty spectacular,” he said to Tamara, who was sitting next to him.
“On a day like this, landing here is actually fun,” she said. “In bad weather, though, it’s not fun at all because the runways are so short.”
They took another cab to Potomac, Maryland, where Bobby and Tamara lived. They had two extra bedrooms, so Stevie and Susan Carol would be staying there for the weekend. Games three, four, and five would be played at Nationals Park on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday—all night games, of course, so that TV could get the largest audience possible.
They were talking over lunch about whether there was any need to attend the off-day workouts and press conferences. Bobby and Tamara, who were writing every day withtheir local team in the World Series, had plenty for their columns, and Susan Carol and Stevie had been given the day off.
But Stevie still wanted to go to the ballpark. The clubhouses would be open while the managers and starting pitchers for the next day were in the interview room, and he thought he might be able to get some time alone with Nieves. Or even Doyle, although he suspected Doyle would be the target of a lot of writers on the off day. With no game until the next night, he was still the big story.
“I’d like to go to the park,” he said. “You never know what you’ll stumble into when there aren’t a million people in the clubhouse.”
“Spoken like a real reporter,” Kelleher said. “Tell you what, I’ll drive down there with you. I’d actually like to talk to some of the Red Sox if I can. I can write from down there if necessary.”
That was perfect as far as Stevie was concerned. The tension between him and Susan Carol was almost unbearable, and the car ride would give him a chance to talk to Kelleher alone.
They left the house with Tamara sitting at her computer and Susan Carol reading a history book.
“So I take it things aren’t any better with Susan Carol?” Kelleher said as they drove down the George Washington Parkway. It was a perfect fall day in Washington, and Stevie was struck by how pretty the area was with the leaves in full color.
“Worse,” he said. “She lied to me at first about meetingwith David yesterday, then when I told her we’d seen her, she got mad and told me she couldn’t tell me what they were talking about.”
Kelleher was silent for a moment—rare for him—as if deciding what to say next. “She flat out lied?” he asked.
“Pretty much,” Stevie said. “She said she’d gone over to Faneuil Hall and walked around the Freedom Trail but never mentioned spending time with David.”
“A lie of omission,” Kelleher said. “But a lie nonetheless.” He turned and went up the ramp onto the Fourteenth Street Bridge, and Stevie noticed they were back near Washington National Airport again.
“It wasn’t just that,” Stevie said. “She totally clammed up when I tried to ask her what they were talking about. Said it was a secret and then practically ran away from
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