Free Sam's Legacy by Jay Neugeboren Page B

“It’ll be just like—like losing a member of the family.”
    Flo put her hand on his, then looked away, through the window, to the street. “It’s quiet today,” she said.
    Sam’s eyes followed hers. In the window, leaning against one wall, was a sign: BUY HERE! YOU SAVE MONEY—YOUR MONEY SAVES LIVES! He wondered if, after five years, Flo saw that there was no need to worry, if she understood that he’d get by, with or without Ben. He had a heart, sure, but good times or bad, he looked out for number one. He watched a bus go by, heard the noise its motor made, pumping away, and realized that he was comforted by the lack of talk between himself and Flo. Pete Gray! The name flashed across his mind—how could he have forgotten him? The one-armed outfielder who’d played for the St. Louis Browns during the war. Sam had read his life story in a comic book, how he’d lost his arm when he’d fallen off the back of a trolley car, hitching a ride as a kid, and had been run over by a truck. Or maybe he’d hitched on the truck. When he caught a fly ball in his glove, he’d toss the ball in the air, and, before the ball would fall, he’d pull his glove off under his bad arm—between the stump and the armpit—and then catch the ball and fire it to the infield with his bare hand. Sam had practiced doing it—there’d been no great trick; it was the speed that counted, though, and Gray had given away nothing. You didn’t get to the major leagues on charity.
    â€œYou’ll stay, though, won’t you?”
    â€œOh sure,” Sam said, quickly. “Where else would I go?” He laughed: “I mean, you ever see pictures of where his brother lives?”
    â€œWe’ll miss him,” Flo said again. She held his hand. “You keep promising to take me with you—to work.”
    â€œSure,” Sam said. He liked the way she used the word work. “One of these first days.” He looked down, shook his head. “You want to hear a good one: a few weeks ago—me and Ben were having what you’d call a”—he forced a laugh—“a father to son talk, and, get this, he said my grandfather would have thought I’d discovered the ideal profession.” Sam rubbed his fingertips against the chair, between his legs. “That’s a laugh, isn’t it.”
    â€œTell me about your grandfather.” Her voice was insistent.
    â€œHe died when I was—before I was ten,” Sam said. She was a queen all right, he thought, in charge of everything, but the truth was that she was the one people should worry about. He could feel what it must have taken for her to have kept going. Maybe, when it came to fading in and fading out, she was the one Ben had passed his gift on to. “I don’t remember him much, except that he was always there—praying or reading a Jewish newspaper. Ask Ben if you’re interested.”
    â€œI asked you,” Flo said. “I don’t think your father likes to talk about him. I think he’s never gotten over—people are like that sometimes.”
    â€œYou got it all wrong,” Sam said. “He worshiped his old man. He’s always quoting from him.” He leaned forward, looking over his shoulder first, as if he were worried that somebody was listening. “Hey listen. I’ll tell you what I remember most about my grandfather.” He felt heat rising from his collar. “Ben wouldn’t tell you this, because he used to make me take him downstairs. He’d say, ‘Sammy, be a good boy and take Grandpa to the subway,’ or to the bus. He was always going places. He was a little guy, maybe five-foot-one, and he always wore a vest under his jacket, and a tie, and he carried a cane, and a mesh-type shopping bag. He wore a hat—I remember that—and when he’d come in from outside, he’d take it off and put his