The Youngest Hero Read Free Page B

had told Billy Ray and me as we sat in his office so many years before.
    “I believe you very well could,” Mr. Thatcher said. “But you want to be smart with this little nest egg. It looks like a lot
     to you now, and if we’re careful with it, it can be a cushion for you if anything happens to your career.”
    “Do I get it in cash or like, what?”
    I saw Billy Ray Thatcher’s eyes roll.
    “It comes to me in the form of a check, Neal. I recommend that you allow me to subtract my commission, pay your debts, put
     a quarter of it in a savings account, put a few thousand in your checking account, and invest the rest in some safe, conservative
     stocks.”
    Not only did Neal refuse, but it was like he was insulted.
    “No way, Jose! Huh-uh! We agreed on your percentage. You take that and you give me the rest. And you can tell me one more
     thing: how to get a check that size cashed. I tried to cash a big check at the bank one time, and they said they needed a
     couple of days’ notice.”
    “They would require a week’s notice on a check this size, Neal, but surely you don’t intend to—”
    “You’re gettin your cut, so just let me know when I get the cash.”
    “I’d be doing you a disservice if I allowed you to—”
    “You’ll be fired if you don’t. Now stick with me, Billy, because we gonna make lots more money together.”
    Neal was up and out of Mr. Thatcher’s office that day without even waiting for me. Billy Ray stood when I did and touched
     my elbow as he held the door for me. “Miriam, if he squanders that money, he’ll ruin his career.”
    I just nodded. If I’d tried to say anything I would have burst into tears. It seemed like Mr. Thatcher was putting the responsibility
     on me to keep Neal from messing up. No one else knew yet that Neal beat me when he was drunk and that he was drinking during
     the week for the first time. Nobody could tell him anything. I had quit bringing up even minor things. We lived in the same
     house. That was it.
    I watched Neal slide from the frittering away of his signing bonus to borrowing ahead on his small, minor-league paycheck,
     and finally to where he began asking the ball club for his daily meal money in advance.
    The day after the Pirates first warned him his career was in jeopardy, he hit four home runs in a rookie-league double-header.
     That had to be why they stuck with him as long as they did, that and what they had invested in him. Neal rose to triple-A
     but soon dropped back to double-A and then A, and finally the Pirates told him they weren’t going to make room for him again
     with the eighteen- to twenty-year-olds in the rookie league.
    I was amazed he could come back to Hattiesburg with his head high, admitting,
admitting
that drinking had done him in. I finally figured out that the last thing Neal wanted anyone to think was that he hadn’t had
     the talent to make the majors. The saddest thing was that he was right. Someone less gifted became that one in a hundred from
     the rookie league to make the big leagues.
    After years of beatings, drinking, lost jobs, and bankruptcy, I could hardly recognize the person I had been so attracted
     to in the first place. He had been the best-looking boy in high school,a star in three sports, homecoming king. He was my dream from the day I first tutored him in algebra. I didn’t help him as
     much as I distracted him. He said he couldn’t take his eyes off my red hair, my freckles, and my figure. His algebra grade
     went from an F to a D. I felt like a failure.
    He was charming and funny, and he claimed he believed in Jesus, but he was not bright. In the end, Neal Woodell was only physical.
     And when alcohol had left him just a better than average local jock, and me a struggling young mother with no more sympathy
     or patience, I got an appointment with Billy Ray Thatcher.
    “How long since you threw him out, Miriam?”
    “More’n two years, plus his jail time.”
    “He sendin you any