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took her awhile as well to sort out the strange feeling she had whenever Ricardo appeared on the screen, swinging a bat, looking relaxed and confident and surprisingly graceful.
    “Montoya’s the key to the pennant,” the announcer was saying. “As long as he stays healthy, the Yankees are practically unbeatable.”
    “It’s his consistency that’s so amazing,” another voice put in. “Day in, day out, always the same. It’s pulled the club together, that evenness, that reliability.”
    “Yep. George was saying the other day that he doesn’t grudge Rick a penny of what he’s paying him.”
    The pitcher was peering in at the plate now and then began his windup. The ball was released and Susan watched in horror as Ricardo flung himself to the ground. She pressed her hand to her stomach and held her breath as he climbed slowly to his feet. He signaled to the bench that he was all right and began to dust his clothes. The entire stadium was roaring its disapproval at the pitcher. Ricardo looked perfectly calm.
    “Carter doesn’t want Rick to crowd the plate,” commented the announcer. “He’s moved him back a step with that pitch.”
    The pitcher went into his windup once more. Ricardo swung, a smooth, almost elegant motion, and there was the sound of a sharp crack.
    “That’s it!” the announcer cried jubilantly. “That one’s gone.” Ricardo began to jog around the bases, seemingly oblivious to the uproar of hysteria that had filled the huge stadium. When he crossed home plate there was a lineup of teammates to meet him. He shook hands, grinning that now familiar irresistible grin, and then he tipped his hat at the crowd. He never once glanced at Ben Carter, who was standing on the mound looking extremely unhappy.
    “That’ll be the last time Carter tries to brush Montoya back,” the announcer said with a chuckle.
    “Rick does have a way about him,” the other voice said. “And now here’s Price. The score is two-nothing, Yankees.”
    * * * *
    Susan sat through the remainder of the game, becoming increasingly fascinated. It was such an orderly sport, she thought; there was something very satisfying about the precision of all its movements, the way each man functioned individually yet as part of the whole. She watched the way the infield shifted as one to accommodate the different players. She watched the way Joe Hutchinson stepped out of the way to allow Ricardo, the center fielder, to take a high fly ball unimpeded. She watched the swiftness and precision of the Yankee infield effortlessly executing a double play from third to second to first. It was, she thought, an immensely satisfying spectacle. She had always understood the satisfaction of playing a sport. Now for the first time she was beginning to appreciate the pleasures of watching.
    After the game was over Susan went upstairs and wrote in her journal for over an hour. When she finally put down her pen she went over to the window and looked out. There was no sign of Ricardo. She began to feel sorry for herself. This was certainly not the wedding night every young girl dreams of. She was very lonely.
    As she was leaning forward to pull down the shade the lights of a car lit up the drive. Ricardo was home. For some inexplicable reason, Susan began to feel apprehensive. She stayed sitting at the desk, immovable, until she heard the sound of his feet on the stairs. The footsteps stopped outside her door.
    He must have seen that her light was on, for he called softly, “Susan? Are you still awake?”
    “Yes,” she called back. Her voice sounded strange and she cleared her throat.
    Her door opened and he stood on the threshold. She noticed a little nervously how wide his shoulders were. “Will you make me a sandwich?” he asked. “I’m starving.”
    Quite suddenly she relaxed. “Of course I will,” she said, and smiled at him. “Haven’t you eaten since lunch?” she asked as they walked down the stairs.
    “No. I don’t like to play