Chapter 2 - The Name My Mother Refused to Say
I stood on the pitcher's mound staring at Coach Walter Henderson.
For fourteen years, I had believed my father was a man who abandoned us before I was born.
That was what my mother told me.
Not because she hated him.
At least, I didn't think so.
Whenever I asked, she became quiet.
She would kiss my forehead and say, "Some people aren't meant to stay, baby."
Then she would change the subject.
But now an old baseball coach was standing in front of me, claiming he knew my father.
And everyone in the stadium was watching.
"What was his name?" I asked.
Walter looked toward the bleachers.
Then back at me.
"Is your mother here?"
I shook my head.
"She's working."
He closed his eyes.
Of course she was working.
She had been scheduled for a double shift at the rehabilitation center.
She wanted to attend.
She always wanted to attend.
But wanting something didn't pay rent.
"Please," I said. "Tell me his name."
Walter slowly removed his baseball cap.
"Before I do that, I need to know something."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"Did your mother ever tell you about a man named Isaiah?"
The name meant nothing to me.
"No."
Walter's shoulders dropped.
He looked as if someone had punched him.
"Isaiah Carter," he whispered.
I repeated it silently.
Isaiah Carter.
For the first time, my father had a name.
Coach Ellis approached us.
"Mr. Henderson, maybe we should give Malik some space."
Walter nodded.
But I stepped forward.
"Was he a baseball player?"
Walter looked at me.
"He was the most naturally gifted pitcher I ever coached."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
Walter stared toward the empty space beyond center field.
"He could throw a breaking ball nobody knew how to explain."
I looked at the baseball in my hand.
"My pitch?"
He nodded.
"We called it the Ghost Curve."
I had never heard that name.
Walter continued.
"It looked like a fastball until the last instant. Then it disappeared beneath the bat."
I remembered Ryan's swing.
The empty air.
The stunned crowd.
Walter looked at me again.
"Isaiah threw it with a grip I had never seen before."
He pointed at my fingers.
"That exact grip."
I swallowed.
"Did he play in the majors?"
Walter's expression changed.
"He was supposed to."
"What happened?"
Walter hesitated.
Then said something strange.
"His career ended before it began."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
He looked toward Ryan Cole.
For the first time, I noticed Ryan wasn't laughing anymore.
He stood near home plate, gripping his bat.
His eyes moved between Walter and me.
"Coach," Ryan said sharply. "Don't start telling old stories."
Walter turned.
His face hardened.
"Old stories?"
Ryan stepped closer.
"The kid won the challenge. Give him the money and let him enjoy his moment."
I looked at Ryan.
Something in his voice had changed.
He sounded nervous.
Walter ignored him.
He looked at me.
"Malik, how old are you?"
"Fourteen."
"When were you born?"
"August 9, 2011."
Walter closed his eyes.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he whispered, "That fits."
I felt frightened.
"What fits?"
He looked at Ryan again.
Ryan was staring at him.
Almost warning him.
Walter took a deep breath.
"Your father was training for a major league contract in 2010."
My heart raced.
"He was that good?"
"Better than good."
Walter's eyes filled.
"He had the kind of arm that comes along once in a generation."
I looked down at my glove.
My broken, worn-out glove.
For years, people had laughed at me for dreaming too big.
Now this man was telling me my father had almost reached the highest level of baseball.
"Where is he now?"
Walter's expression collapsed.
And suddenly, I understood that I wasn't going to like the answer.
"Son," he said quietly, "your father died fourteen years ago."
My whole body went cold.
The baseball slipped from my fingers.
It bounced once against the mound.
Then rolled toward Walter's shoes.
I couldn't move.
Dead.
My father wasn't somewhere living a different life.
He wasn't ignoring my birthdays.
He wasn't choosing another family.
He was dead.
I stared at Walter.
"My mom never told me that."
Walter looked devastated.
"I'm sorry."
I shook my head.
"No."
Coach Ellis put a hand on my shoulder.
I pulled away.
"Why wouldn't she tell me?"
Nobody answered.
I looked toward Ryan.
He was walking away.
Something inside me snapped.
"HEY!"
Ryan stopped.
I ran down the mound.
"Did you know my father?"
Ryan turned slowly.
His face was unreadable.
"Kid, this isn't the place."
"Did you?"
He looked at Walter.
Then at me.
"We played in the same training program."
My heart hammered.
"Then why didn't you say anything?"
Ryan's jaw tightened.
"Because it was a long time ago."
Walter stepped forward.
"Tell him the truth, Ryan."
Ryan's face darkened.
"Stay out of this."
The crowd had grown quiet.
People were filming.
My teammates stood near the dugout, looking confused.
I stared at Ryan.
"What happened to my dad?"
He swallowed.
Then looked away.
"Ask your mother."
Those words hurt more than anything else.
Because they meant he knew something.
Something he didn't want to say.
Before I could question him again, a man from the event staff stepped between us.
"Let's take a break."
Ryan walked away without looking back.
Walter picked up the baseball.
Then handed it to me.
"Your father would've been proud of those pitches."
I couldn't speak.
The crowd began applauding.
Some people shouted my name.
Others cheered for the ten-thousand-dollar challenge.
But I barely heard them.
I only heard one sentence repeating inside my head.
Your father died fourteen years ago.
Coach Ellis guided me toward the dugout.
My teammates surrounded me.
"Malik, you smoked him!"
"Did you see his face?"
"We won ten grand!"
I tried to smile.
But my throat was closing.
Then I heard Coach Ellis speaking with the event organizer.
"The donation will go to the team?"
The organizer nodded.
"Ryan agreed to the challenge."
I turned.
"What about the money?"
Coach Ellis looked at me.
"Malik, don't worry about that now."
But I did worry.
That money could buy gloves.
Bats.
Uniforms.
Transportation.
We needed it.
Ryan had publicly accepted the bet.
I wasn't going to let him escape because he was embarrassed.
I walked toward the organizer.
"Is he paying?"
The man hesitated.
"We're discussing it."
I stared at him.
"He said ten thousand dollars."
"I understand."
"He lost twice."
The organizer gave me a strained smile.
"We'll work it out."
I knew that smile.
Adults used it when they wanted children to stop asking questions.
I was about to argue when Walter approached.
"I'll make sure the promise is honored."
I looked at him.
"How?"
He turned toward the crowd.
"Because I heard it. So did everyone else."
For the first time that afternoon, I almost smiled.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from my mother.
How did the game go, baby?
I stared at the screen.
My fingers trembled.
I typed one sentence.
Mom, who was Isaiah Carter?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
They appeared again.
Then stopped.
A full minute passed.
Finally, my phone rang.
Mom.
I answered immediately.
"Mom?"
Her voice was shaking.
"Malik, where did you hear that name?"
My stomach tightened.
"Coach Walter Henderson."
Silence.
Then I heard something that frightened me more than anything.
My mother began crying.
"Baby," she whispered, "please tell me you didn't talk to Ryan Cole."
I looked toward the clubhouse entrance.
Ryan had disappeared inside.
"Why?"
My mother's breathing became uneven.
"Malik, listen carefully."
I gripped the phone.
"Mom?"
"Don't go anywhere with that man."
A chill ran down my back.
May you like
Then she said the words that changed everything.
"Ryan Cole is the reason your father never came home."
