Page 48 of Mom Ball

Poor kid is probably shell-shocked since he hasn’t played a game without his parents. I study the snakelike pattern in the dirt where his bat left a mark and take a deep breath. Aniston comforts him in the dugout.

Timothy is up next. I choke back a tear and pray he does okay. He swings and misses, then stands and watches three balls.

Morgan holds the ball up. “Timothy this is the fifth pitch. You have to swing.”

He nods. I close my eyes.

A ding rings out, and my eyes pop open. The ball is about two feet from the plate, but it’s legal.

“Run, Timothy!” Morgan yells at the top of her lungs.

He takes off toward me and slides into first. The umpire calls him safe. Morgan slaps her hand on her head and calls time.

She hurries to first base. “Timothy, please don’t slide at first again. Run through the bag. ’Kay?”

He nods and she pats his head.

After Morgan returns to the pitching circle, I smile at him. “Thanks for keeping us alive,” I whisper.

He grins.

Andrew comes up fourth. His pants are already dirty and both shoes are untied. But neither he nor Morgan seem to mind.

She throws two pitches and he stares at her. She grits her teeth and makes a stern face. He straightens and holds his bat higher.

On the third ball, he swings for the fences. Our dugout and bleachers go crazy. I push Timothy toward second base. “Stop watching the ball, son, and run!”

Carlton is at third base scrolling his phone. He looks up at the excitement and motions for Timothy to keep running. He does keep running—just not fast enough. He falls somewhere between second and third base and Andrew blows past him. How my kid managed to fall instead of the one with untied shoes makes no sense. Maybe it was nerves.

Morgan screams at Andrew to slow down, and everyone else screams at Timothy to get up.

Jeffrey’s team fields the ball toward the infield. The second baseman catches it as Timothy hits third base. Andrew jumps on home and everyone cheers.

The ump calls him out. “Passed runner, run doesn’t count,” he declares from the plate.

Morgan grabs Andrew by the ear and pulls him toward the dugout, giving him an earful while she’s at it.

Jeffrey walks smugly to the pitcher’s mound as his team jogs off the field in triumph.

It’s going to be a loooong game.

CHAPTER 11

Nate

It’s déjà vu when Shelby hooks the sticky wires to my arm. I lean back, pleased that it doesn’t hurt as much as last time.

Dr. Trenton will be happy to know I haven’t so much as touched a piece of furniture except to open a drawer for clothes.

Seriously. Since the house is five times the size of my Atlanta condo, I hired Mom to clean it. She protested at first, then agreed to take payment if I let her cook for me anytime she wanted.

Best deal I’ve ever made. Maybe one day I’ll convince her to try my oven.

“Hey, Shelby, I’m going to lunch at twelve,” another PT assistant says.

“Okay, thanks.” Shelby smiles at her, then finishes adjusting my machine.

Twelve.

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