The Perfect Game by Leslie Dana Kirby Page B

Diamondbacks lineup were coming up to bat, making it less likely they would score this inning.
    The Dodgers brought in outstanding relief pitcher Toby Bennett, who had a reputation for squeezing wins out of tightly contested games like this one. He decisively struck out Diamondback batters number seven and eight. Jake was number nine. Most pitchers were not strong hitters and Jake was no exception.
    Jake approached the batter’s box. The cheering escalated to a roar so loud Lauren could no longer hear the commentary on the television a few feet away. Jake grinned contagiously and the crowd began chanting his name.
    He allowed the first pitch, a strike, to pass. The umpire called the second pitch a strike even though it looked high. The crowd booed. On the third pitch, Jake swung with gusto. He had committed now; he would either hit the ball or strike out trying. The bat cracked against the ball, which sailed over the shortstop’s head, a line drive low and hard into left field. Jake rounded first and slid safely into second base just before the ball arrived from the left fielder.
    There were now two outs, Jake was on second base, and the leadoff batter, Antonio Santos, was coming up to bat. After several agonizing minutes and five pitches, it was a full count against Santos. Lauren watched, mesmerized. Santos whacked the next pitch forcefully, launching it into right field, the sound of bat against ball resonating around the stadium. The second baseman jumped, nearly catching the ball, but it hit his glove and veered off in another direction forcing the outfielders to change direction to pursue it.
    Santos stopped at first. Jake rounded third and, totally ignoring the advice of the base coach, barreled for home. He slid in a storm of dust just as the catcher caught the ball. The crowd watched the umpire expectantly, who skipped a beat before throwing out his arms in the safe signal. The Diamondbacks had won. Loud cheers erupted from the crowd.
    Pandemonium broke out on the field. Jake was nearly crushed by the enthusiastic congratulations of his teammates. He had pitched one of only a handful of perfect games in the entire history of baseball.
    Santos’ wife, Eva, touched Lauren gently on the arm. “Are you okay?”
    â€œI’m just so happy for him,” she said, realizing tears were streaming down her face. For all the tears she had shed since Liz’s death, these were the first that were tears of joy rather than despair.

Chapter Twenty-one
    (Friday, August 26)
    Eva escorted Lauren to the press box, where they watched the players provide post-game interviews. Jake conveyed exactly the right combination of enthusiasm and humility. The questions continued for over an hour as the room crackled with the collective excitement of the perfect game along with the Diamondbacks’ obvious trajectory toward the playoffs.
    Players began drifting in from the locker room in twos and threes, collecting their wives or girlfriends as they headed home. Because he had to ice down his arm, Jake was the last player to emerge. Still more excited than a kid on Christmas, he grabbed Lauren and swung her around in a circle before they headed toward the parking lot.
    The team lot was now empty except for the limousine. Jake explained he had caught a ride to the game with another player, so the two of them could ride together afterwards. He waved the chauffeur back, holding the door for Lauren before bounding in behind her. He grabbed a bottle of Dom Pérignon from the refrigerator, opened the moon roof, and popped the cork into the steamy night air. He poured two flutes and held his up in toast. Lauren clinked her glass to his. “To your perfect game.”
    â€œTo the perfect evening,” he smiled. The bubbles tickled Lauren’s nose as she took a long indulgent drink.
    They enjoyed a pleasant mixture of warm night breeze and pressurized air conditioning as they rehashed the game. Jake was impressed by