Chapter Twelve: Shadow River

“Have you been to Shadow River before?” Carlton asked, easing his Wilde Hardware truck into a small parking lot surrounded by fragrant cedar trees.

Maddie squinted into the darkness punctuated by a few pathway lights, trying to recall the last time she’d been here. “Esme and I used to have picnics here. I brought my Barbies and pretended they were at the beach. The name ‘Shadow River’ always fascinated me. It’s so mysterious.”

“Yeah, I like it, too.”

They climbed out of the truck, and Maddie leaned back against her door to gaze up at the stars. So bright with no city lights around. And a slender crescent moon. Why did Carlton have to bring her to such a beautiful place to break her heart?

“Wow, that sky is something, huh?” Maddie breathed in the night air and tried to brace herself for what might be coming emotionally.

Carlton came around to her side of the truck. “I always come here when I need some perspective. The riverwalk is fairly new. The City Council funded it a few years back. Come on, you have to see this!”

He led the way down a paved trail to a wooden boardwalk raised above the sandy shore of the river with a railing along both sides. Maddie wanted to reach out and take his hand. She didn’t. He strolled a few yards ahead, then stopped and motioned for her to join him where the walkway jutted out over the river. The view was spectacular, and the water looked as clear and smooth as glass.

“Look, the Milky Way in the river!” Carlton waved his hand like a magician.

Maddie walked toward Carlton, leaned over the railing, and saw an entire second universe shimmering beneath the surface of the water.

She gasped. “Oh wow! That’s—I don’t even know what to say.”

Carlton laid his hand on her back and gently turned her to face him. “The truth is, Maddie—I don’t know what to do about us. But this spot is like a magic mirror. The water shows me things. Not exactly visions of the future. It’s more… I get a sense of clarity out here. Like … quiet illumination.”

“Sounds very Tolkien-y.”

He nodded. “Exactly. I should’ve known you’d get that. So tonight, I wanted to look at the river and the stars and see if I could figure out what they were saying. Because I’m honestly having a hard time not kissing you right now. Or anytime I come within twenty feet of you. I hate to say this, but I don’t think we should.”

Maddie shut her eyes. She couldn’t stand the suspense anymore, so she broke the news herself.

“It’s OK. Don’t worry. I saw you and Mary Ann at the ballpark on Opening Day. She changed her mind, right? About your proposal. I’m glad for you. I’d never do anything to mess that up.” Her voice didn’t crack or choke, and Maddie considered that a victory.

“No! Jesus, what do you think of me? I don’t make major life decisions that quickly. And I wouldn’t be talking to you like this if I were engaged. But Mary Ann has been a big part of my life. We grew up together. Dad loves her like a daughter. She came to the ballpark to tell me about the job offer and possible fellowship. When she was in Europe, I knew where I stood with her. Now it feels weird and confusing. I want to be fair. I’m sorry for this complication, Maddie. I feel awful about it.”

“I understand confusion. Believe me! I’ve flip-flopped about going out with you at least a hundred times since I found you in Sweetgum. For lots of different reasons that got all muddled in my head.” She gazed into the starry water and tried to think clearly herself. “Sometimes I think that our day at Wrigley was a one-time gift from the baseball gods, but we aren’t supposed to be lovers. I mean, I want to. All the time. But it’s not everything! I’ve never known anyone like you. Every day—at least fifteen times a day—there’s something I want to tell you or laugh about with you. That feels like a best friend. Except we’re attracted to each other, and that might not be the best idea. Like ‘Katie’ and ‘Hubbell’ in The Way We Were. Only you didn’t fall asleep and have semi-conscious sex with me in my adorable New York City apartment. Which is too bad because I’m afraid that ship has sailed. Damn it! Our timing sucks, but we can skip over that part. I’d like to be my best friend. What do you think? Can we do that? I guess it’s an age-old question.”

Carlton smiled. “I wouldn’t have wanted the sex to be semi-conscious. But I think it’s possible to be friends. I hope so.” He hugged her fiercely, and they stood together without speaking.

An eerie, wailing cry came from the opposite shore.

Maddie flinched. “What the heck was that?”

“That’s a loon. Pretty rare in these parts as far as I know.”

“Huh. Is that a bad sign that we’re being loony or…?”

They separated, but Maddie kept hold of his shoulders.

“I prefer to think it’s a good sign,” he said. “Of something rare.”

Maddie laughed and let go of Carlton. She felt strangely calm. “I’m glad we came here. That we’re talking like this. I admire that you aren’t afraid to talk about things.”

“Oh, I’m afraid. More often than you’d think.”

“Well, before tonight, I was planning to suffer in silence. And stew incessantly over Mary Ann. This is better.”

“Give yourself credit. You jumpstarted this discussion. I overanalyze. I make my own mental wormholes and get lost inside them. You cut right to the chase."

Maddie stepped back and turned back toward the lake. “So, what now? I can’t get enough of that incredible sky in the water! Plus being outside, somewhere not in the ballpark, is a healthy thing.”

“By all means, let’s be healthy and keep walking.”

They wandered down the rest of the riverwalk and stopped at a curved bench with a view of the distant mountains, black silhouettes against the brilliant starfield.

“What should we talk about now?” Maddie asked. “What’s a juicy ‘best friend’ topic? Hey, I have an idea! Ask me anything you want about my past. What would you like to know?”

Carlton thought for a minute and then spoke cautiously. “If you don't want to discuss this, just say so. But what really happened with the rubber duck disaster? You’re not some clueless airhead. I can’t believe that was your fault.”

“Unfortunately, it was, and it was humiliating. I dreamed of being on ESPN’s SportsCenter someday. I never thought I’d get on for being an idiot.” Maddie paused and smoothed her hair away from her forehead. It was harder to tell this story again than she thought it would be. Her stomach clenched as painful memories came rushing back to her.

“You’re not an idiot. Far from it. But how did you manage to shut down Akron’s water supply for two days? You had to get a permit. Didn’t the city know that rubber ducks might clog up the waterworks?”

“Everyone thought it would be OK. Lots of cities have rubber duck races. When I was planning the event, I went to the water treatment plant and talked to the coordinator. I asked about every potential disaster.” Maddie sniffed and willed herself not to cry. She didn’t want to play the sympathy card. She was still mad at herself for a stupid mistake. “I was told nothing could go wrong. Even if the ducks ran amok, the grinders would handle it. The blades were sharp enough to chew them up.”

“So what happened?”

“What else? I went too far. A week before the race I came up with the idea of adding another level to the contest. I cut out little sailor collars for the ducks. People could decorate the collar, paint their number on it, and win a prize for the best-dressed duck.”

Carlton very obviously tried not to laugh. “Really, Maddie? You had to have a best-dressed duck?”

“I know! It’s the Red Line at Addison all over again. I can’t keep it simple. Anyway, the net at the finish line broke and the ducks escaped.”

Carlton’s eyes widened. His face reflected the horror that Maddie felt reliving the day she’d give anything to forget. “Oh no! I think I get it. The collars—and incidentally, that’s insane to cut out thousands of tiny duck collars—had to be waterproof. Please tell me you didn’t use Tyvek.”

Maddie slumped down and slowly banged her head on the railing behind her. “Yes. I. Used. Tyvek.”

“Grinders can’t cut through that.” Carlton groaned. “The blades would get dull and gum up the works. They’d had to shut down the filtration system. It’s a nightmare!”

“Right! And excuse me but, how do you know that? And where were you when I decided to add Tyvek? Again, my fault. If I hadn't lost you on the Red Line, you might have warned me.”

“Stop saying the Red Line was your fault. I’m the one who didn’t keep up with you in that crowd.” Carlton took Maddie’s hand. She knew it was an act of kindness, but it also made her breath hitch. Best friends, she chanted to herself.

“You pick up a lot of odd information from working in a hardware store,” Carlton continued. “Listen, you just had some bad luck. One screwed up event should not have ended your MLB career.”

“It did, though. I got fired immediately. Who wants to hire someone who forced a whole city to boil water to make it safe for two days? The publicity for the Akron Ducks was horrible, and it went on for months. I couldn't put a dollar figure on the damage. No other team would touch me. You know how competitive Major League Baseball is. There were plenty of bright young things ready to take my place. I was booted out and MLB forgot about me real quick.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling.”

“And you know what really hurts? All the sexist jokes about a silly woman and her silly mistake. Do you have any idea how hard it is for a woman to break into management in baseball? No one cares that I know more about the sport than most people alive. Did you know the Cubs and the Dodgers traded their entire minor league teams to one another in 1957?”

Carlton cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Actually. I did know that.”

“Of course you did, Professor. I forgot who I was talking to. But you know what I mean. I’ve loved this game since I started walking, and I’ve studied it ever since I could read! And I got reduced to a feather-brained bimbo in one afternoon. That still hurts like hell.”

Carlton gave her hands a squeeze. “Anyone who has spent more than two minutes with you knows you’re not a feather-brained bimbo. I don't think you realize how courageous you are. Most people would have quit after something like that. Not you. You got right back up, took an impossible job that pays nothing, and you’re making a difference for this team and this town. You’re shaking things up. You’re not hiding from your mistake. That’s pretty remarkable.”

A flood of gratitude washed over Maddie. “Thanks. That was a really good ‘best friend’ thing to say.”

“Well, that was definitely a best friend-caliber confession. So how about if I tell you a secret about myself?” Carlton offered.

“You want to take Max Patkin’s place as the Clown Prince of Baseball? Or no! You actually hate baseball. What you really want to do is open a head shop and listen to Bongzilla all day?”

“If you’re going to make jokes then never mind!”

“Sorry. I’ll be serious. What’s your secret?”

“After I realized the Tommy John surgery hadn’t worked and I wasn’t going to be able to pitch again… I went to Atlanta and worked in finance for a while. I got a business degree from Stanford when I played ball there. But it didn’t work. Woke up dreading every day. Finally, I came back home to figure out what I wanted. Turns out that hanging out at the bar with my friends and talking about baseball felt good. We started the podcast. I could lambast Monty for being a shitty owner without worrying about the consequences. People seemed to need that. Someone speaking the truth. I know it’s not much, but it felt like an important thing to do."

A breeze ruffled the surface of the river, and Maddie could smell some sort of flower she didn’t recognize. This felt so unfamiliar, and yet she could have sworn she had been here with Carlton before, sharing nightmares and dreams. Maybe deja vu was like the Milky Way in the water. A profound reflection of the current moment. She smiled to herself. She wasn’t usually one for metaphysical pondering, but Carlton had that effect on her. He had stopped talking, staring at the sparkling water, so she prompted him to continue.

“I love that you’re trusting me with this story, but I’m dying to know. What's your big secret?”

Carlton sucked in a breath and then spoke quickly. “I want to be a play-by-play announcer. On the radio. I want to be the voice that paints the picture of this great game of baseball for kids growing up. I want to call postseason games and sit behind the microphone for a World Series. But somehow I don't think calling Little League games in Sweetgum is gonna get me there.”

“That’s a great dream, Carlton! You’d be so good at it. No one knows more about the game than you do, and you have a terrific voice! Any team would be lucky to have you. Who were your favorite broadcasters?"

Carlton’s eyes sparked with excitement that Maddie understood immediately. She knew she was seeing his soul revealed right now. This motivated him on a deep level. It was a privilege to gain access, and she tried her best to honor the experience.
“Harry Caray and Jack Brickhouse. But I loved Vin Scully most of all. He was a poet. And a historian and humorist. That’s what I want. If I had half of Scully’s class and skill, I could die a happy man.”

Maddie bumped Carlton’s shoulder. “Whoa, let’s not talk about dying yet. Let me think about this. There’s gotta be a way. Your podcast is getting traction outside of Sweetgum. That’s because you’re good at what you do, and people like to hear you talk about baseball. Correction. They love to hear you. We just need to work on your next steps.”

Carlton gave Maddie a relieved smile. “Thanks for not making fun of me.”

“Are you kidding? I love this! Oh wait—I know how you can break in.”

“Uh oh. Should I ask?”

“When I’m GM for the Cubs, I’ll hire you. Yes, YOU, a hardcore, Gray Sox fan! You mentioned two former Cubs announcers as your favorites, so you’re already primed to switch to the North Side. Yeah, I’m so psyched about this! High five!” She raised her palms.

Carlton shoved her hands away playfully. “Harry Caray worked for the Sox for eleven years. And it’s very generous, but your scenario is a long way off.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got to hope. Don’t we? How can anyone get up every morning if there’s no hope?”

And the funny thing was, she did have hope tonight. Hope and pickle races! She could hardly wait until next Friday to see what would happen.

RELATED ART

We invite you to have a “Shadow River” meditative moment with some photos of the Milky Way reflected in water and the “Lothlorien” cue from Howard Shore’s soundtrack to The Fellowship of the Ring.

BASEBALL INSPIRATION: LEGENDARY BROADCASTERS

Radio and TV announcers in baseball are much more than people who describe the game. They create a profound bond between the fans and the team. Their expressions and personalities become part of a team’s history and legend. They etch great moments of each season in words, emotion, and sound. The three broadcasters that Carlton mentions are some of the best.

Vin Scully received the Medal of Freedom from President Obama on November 22, 2016, shortly after Scully retired from his 67-year career as the voice of the Brooklyn and Los Angeles Dodgers.

Vin Scully – Society for American Baseball Research - SABR.org

Harry Caray began his broadcast career in 1945 with the St. Louis Cardinals. He went to the Oakland A’s next, and then landed in Chicago where he became one of the most beloved announcers in the city’s history. He started with the White Sox and ended with the Cubs. He is often credited with popularizing singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during the seventh inning stretch. It was owner Bill Veeck who secretly amplified and recorded Caray singing and let the fans hear him. At first Harry didn’t like it, but Veeck convinced him that anyone hearing Harry’s voice would believe they could sing, too, and join in. Harry finally agreed. Today Harry on video still leads the crowd in song at Wrigley Field from time to time.

Jack Brickhouse became an announcer for WMBD/Peoria in 1934. He was America’s youngest announcer, only 18 years old. In 1940, he was hired by WGN and became the voice of the Cubs, White Sox, and the Chicago Bears.

Read Article: Brickhouse Sox's best friend for 20 years on TV — and beyond

FILM INSPIRATION: THE WAY WE WERE

We can’t mention The Way We Were in a chapter without including a photo and remembering this classic, melancholy love story with fond admiration. Robert Redford was a major influence on both authors of Wilde Pitch. He cared about great filmmaking and social justice. We miss him.