Page 7 of Home Safe

“It was nice to meet you, Samantha. Thanks for all your help,” I say with true appreciation.

She gives me a half-smile. “Trust me, the pleasure is all mine.”

Chapter four

Griffin

Iwatch a ball whiz past me and let out a low whistle.

“Whoa-ho, easy there, Fireball. You’ve got quite the power on that arm, but we've gotta work on your throwing accuracy,” I say to the tiny kid in front of me. His bright red hair adds another dimension to the “Fireball” nickname I'd just bequeathed in response to that wild throw. I motion for him to follow me to one of the throwing practice nets set up on the field.

Half of the kids are working on batting practice with Drew Sheffield, our first baseman and strongest hitter. The other half are working on catching and throwing skills with me. Of course, we have plentiful staff and volunteers milling around helping out as well.

“What did you say your name was again, Fireball?” I ask the kid as he scampers after me.

“Jason!” he says, stars in his eyes. “But you can call me Fireball if you want, Mr. West.”

“Only if you call me Griffin,” I respond, grinning down at him.

His eyes light up even more but then cloud over. I crouch down to get on his eye level. “Whatcha thinking about there, Jason?”

He shuffles his feet. “I was just thinking that I should apologize to you for being here.” He’s avoiding eye contact, so I gently poke him in the stomach.

“And why’s that?” I ask.

“Ishouldn’t get to be at this camp,” Jason begins. He sniffs hard. “My social worker told me about it a long time ago, and I was so excited. But it’s a camp for foster kids, and I’m getting adopted. I moved in with my new mom last month—she’s the librarian at my school, and she’s really nice. Like,reallynice. She always asked me how I was doing and listened to me, and she helped me find books that I would like that made me feel better. And now she says she’s gonna love me and be my mom forever. So I’m not really a foster kid anymore, and I took the spot of another kid without a mom who could be here instead of me. But I was excited because I love baseball so much that I still came even though that’s not fair.”

He’s spoken so quickly, I don’t think he took a single breath. His eyes look like floodgates of tears could burst at any moment, like he’s terrified of how I’m going to react to his admission.

The tussle of emotions this kid is experiencing—is expressing—reminds me of all the jumbled emotions that were consistently rotating in and out of our home. My chest hurts looking into Jason’s eyes.

I give him a gentle smile. “Hey, little man, I’m so glad for you that you have a new mom who’s so nice to you. She sounds amazing. But you have every right to be here at this camp, and I’m happy that you are. I appreciate you telling me that, though. How old are you?”

“I’m nine, but I’ll be ten in February,” he says, puffing out his chest.

So young to have so much awareness.

“You’re awfully thoughtful for your age, you know that, Fireball?” He widens his eyes and nods slowly, like I gave him the world’s best compliment.

I nudge his arm with my baseball glove. “You’ve got a strong arm there, but I want you to work on throwing the ball accurately, not only hard. See how many times you can hit that square in the middle of the net, even if it means you don’t throw the ball as hard as you can, okay?”

“Yes, sir!” Jason says with gravitas. He immediately pivots to practice throwing and manages to hit the square on his first try. He quickly looks up at me, eager for positive feedback. I hoot and holler wildly to celebrate his success. The beaming smile on his face is the greatest reward for the simplest “favor” I’ve ever done.

As much as I’d like to hang here and continue talking with this interesting little guy, I need to spread my attention around to the other kids. I make the rounds to give tips and pointers to each of the kids in my group, but I can’t resist the pull to keep returning to Jason. Every encouragement I give him lights up his whole demeanor. The way he soaks up every word I speak makes me want to arrange for him to attend a few games this season. I’m a little sad when his group swaps to batting practice.

At the end of the first day, we make a big deal about presenting each of the kids with their exclusive Camp Wizard gear—baseball gloves, a bat and ball, plus t-shirts and hats, naturally. We give Drew an enthusiastic round of applause for helping with batting practice today, and then we release the kids to the lobby.

Normally, I let the volunteers escort the kids back to their designated guardians on the first two days of camp, saving my face time with the adults for the grand finale of the camp. However, I find myself undeniably drawn to seek out Jason’s new adoptive mother, to let her know what a thoughtful, sensitive kid she has on her hands.

Confident that Sam will have her phone on her, I shoot her a text as I duck into one of the offices.

ME

Hey, can you make up an excuse to have Jason’s guardian come back to the office? I want to tell her about something Jason said today.

SAM

Sure. With or without Jason there?

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