Page 25 of Rum & Coke
He didn’t look away from his iPad, and Vinny moved to kneel beside me. He cupped Colt’s ears as I normally did. “Hey, Colton. I’m Vinny. I’m going to be your teacher in a few months. Can I get a handshake?”
Colton’s blue gaze moved to Vinny, and I expected him to ignore Vinny and go back to his cartoons, but instead, he blinked rapidly to communicate his okay. Vinny grinned and stuck out his hand, and I watched as my little man greeted Vinny.
“That was amazing,” I gushed. He really did know how to work with children. We stood, and Colt’s attention went back to his cartoon. “Thank you for the coffee. I can get us ready and come to your room in thirty or forty minutes if that works?”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Lunch wasn’t going as planned.
I was hopeful Colt would be okay in a restaurant, but he wasn’t. He had a hard time sitting still for more than thirty minutes at a time unless he had something to focus on, and his iPad had died. So instead, we got our food to go and went back to my room to eat and charge the iPad so he could have it at the baseball game. After getting Colton situated with his cheese quesadilla in the center of the bed, I took a seat at the desk, and Vinny sat in the chair near the window.
“Thank you again for all of this,” I said to Vinny after taking a sip of my drink.
“Of course. I’m having a good time.”
“Even with the lack of sleep?”
He grinned. “Even with the lack of sleep.”
“Me, too,” I admitted. “I honestly can’t wait to see Colt’s face when he sees the players take the field for the first time.”
Vinny took a bite of his taco. “Some people assume baseball is boring, but when your team’s doing well or two rival teams are playing each other, it’s electric.”
“I used to go with my dad, and not because the Giants were good. We were decent, but as you know, hadn’t won a World Series in years.”
“Helped that you had Barry Bonds hitting all those home runs.”
“True.” I took a bite of my own taco. “I’m hoping Colton can grasp the excitement when everyone cheers after a home run.”
“You mean after the Dodgers hit a home run.”
I chuckled. “I’m going to be cheering whenever the Giants hit a home run.”
“You’ll be the only one.”
“Please,” I tsked. “I won’t be the only Giants fan there this afternoon.”
Vinny smiled and stuck a chip into his mouth. “I’m going to be so embarrassed sitting next to you.”
“Not when the Giants win. You’ll be crying.”
He threw his head back, laughing. “Even if they do lose—which they won’t—the season is only beginning.”
“True, but I still want steak and lobster when the Giants win.” I smirked, feeling good about my Giants and already thinking about the steak and lobster feast.
When I boughtthe tickets for the baseball game, I got us three seats in the outfield in the front row. Not because they were cheaper than a lot of tickets but because, in my opinion, they were the best seats. The bleachers in the outfield were where home runs were hit—home runs that needed to be caught by fans. Hopefully, I could get Colton a game ball and switch it out with the one he was currently playing with.
Tessa was booed for wearing her orange and black Giants jersey, but when the crowd saw Colt in his, the jeers turned to a collective aww. I had to admit Tessa had made a cute kid even if she was teaching him to like the enemy. I was in my Dodgers blue and gray jersey and, in our group, was the odd man out, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t sure if my Dodgers were going to pull off a win because as soon as we went ahead, the Giants answered back with a run. Our only saving grace, if the situation continued, was that we were last at bat because we were the home team. If we scored the final run, they wouldn’t have a chance to tie the game.
The game was in the fifth inning and tied. Tessa and I were sitting with Colton in between us on the bleacher. Colton had his baseball in his hands and his noise-canceling headphones on. Each time a new person would get up to bat, he would repeat the stats that were on the scoreboard over and over as though he was committing them to memory, and he probably was. He didn’t speak conversationally but only in random and sometimes repetitive ways—a symptom called echolalia.
“I can’t believe he’s talking so much,” Tessa stated.
“That’s good,” I replied because it was. His treatment must be working.
“Cotton candy! Get your cotton candy here!” a vendor shouted as he walked down the aisle of the bleachers.
I raised my hand, indicating I wanted one. After I paid for it, I handed it to Tessa.
