Page 9 of Ugly Duckling

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God, he should’ve been here.

Tears in my eyes, I stepped back into the box and performed my routine.

The one that I’d started doing just after Jett was born.

I dragged my bat across the base. Once. Twice. Three. Four times.

J-E-T-T.

Once I was done spelling out Jett’s name, I swung my bat up onto my shoulder and waited.

The pitch came, and I somehow knew he was going to throw that slider.

I waited until the right second, then I swung.

The bat connected with the ball.

Crack.

I started running, not bothering to put any effort into the run.

I knew it was out of here.

You swung so fast, Daddy!

Wow, Daddy. That was the best at bat yet!

I can’t wait to see you wearing a Lumberjacks uniform!

You did it, Daddy.

By the time I rounded the third base line for home, I was openly crying.

Picking up my bat from the next hitter, I nodded my thanks, and he smiled at me sympathetically.

I swallowed hard, my gaze skidding away from his, and found my uncle in the crowd.

Uncle Parker had his hand over his heart, but it was the photo that he was holding up that really made me lose it.

Jett, screaming at the top of his lungs, his tiny little fingers clenching the fence so hard that they were white.

My favorite photo ever.

Uncle Parker had taken it during my last game.

My baby boy, my biggest fan.

Uncle Parker pointed at me and mouthed, “He’s proud.”

I wiped my tears and stepped into the dugout.

He would be proud.

If he was here.

Five years later

“You’re quitting?” Parker asked.

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