because it appears to be…a woman, a woman wearing a red jacket.
I don't even hesitate. I'm out of the car in two seconds flat.
"Hey!" I call out. "Wait!"
Within one or two steps, I'm soaked to the skin, but based on the three inches of mud coating the bottom of her shoes, and the bits of leaves stuck in her hair, she must've taken the more scenic route, struggling through all the brush and undergrowth between here and the stadium.
I approach her from behind, and she stops but doesn't turn around. As I get closer, her breath becomes visible on the damp air. Her jacket is hanging open and her whole body is trembling with cold.
"Where's my little Lukey?"
I go rigid. Oh my God, it's Luke's mom! What in the world is she doing out here ?
"Mrs. Singleton?" I cry out. "Are you okay?"
I lightly place my arm around her shoulders, and she shrugs me off. "Mrs. Singleton?" she grumbles. "All of Lukey's friends call me Mrs. S."
She doesn't know me, and she's probably afraid. But her teeth are chattering and her lips are turning blue. I don't have time to stand around and argue with her. I need to get her out of the rain.
"Lukey sent me to pick you up," I respond, using the name of the person she just mentioned, a little tip I picked up from working in the Alzheimer's ward.
And for a second, the deadness leaves her eyes. "He did?"
I nod. "Yeah, he's worried that you're not gonna get to see the end of the game."
"Lukey's here?" she asks, angling her head to look at me as the rain trickles down her face. "Where's my little Lukey?"
My heart contracts at hearing her call him that, just like she did last night when she was scared.
I reply using key trigger words to get her to respond to me. "No, Lukey's back at Beaver Field . He asked me to take you there. How does that sound, Mrs. Single— Mrs. S.?"
She knits her eyebrows, her wet hair plastered to her face. "Okay…" she answers uncertainly.
I smile at her. "Good. Follow me."
This time, I don't touch her. Instead, I just start walking toward the car. Holding my breath, all I hear is the drumbeat of rain hitting the ground, so I slow down until it's eventually accompanied by the welcome sound of her shoes slogging through the mud behind me. I proceed on ahead and hold the door open for her, and thankfully, she gets into the car without any fuss.
"Buckle up, please," I say as cheerfully as I can, testing to see how much she trusts me.
When she complies, I quickly shut the door and scoot back behind the wheel. Not liking how her hands are so red while the ends of her fingers are turning white, I crank up the heat full blast. The temperature outside is hovering around forty-five degrees, well above freezing, but she's frail and hypothermia still poses a danger. She's so thin, making me wonder what her diet's like and if it's hard for Luke to get her to eat. I should see if she likes …
I stop myself. No, just because I found her doesn't mean I'm staying. Nothing's changed. Luke obviously didn't want my help. If he did, he would've asked for it, and I'm not going to force myself upon him. It wouldn't be right for so many reasons .
The road's narrow, and I'm inwardly debating if I have enough room to turn around or if I should just back all the way out when she asks, "You said Senior's playing today?"
"Senior?"
"Yeah, Senior," she mutters impatiently. "My husband."
I bite my lip, turning the wheel as far as it will go. "No, not your husband, Mrs. S. Your son, Luke Singleton, Junior."
"My son doesn't play baseball anymore," she mumbles as my tires start to spin in the mud.
Great … The last thing I need is to get stuck out here when she's in desperate need of a warm change of clothes.
"Oh, is that right?" I respond, distractedly.
"Yes, he plays T-ball with his father," she says, beaming with pride. "You should see the nice little field he made for Lukey out in the backyard. Do you play T-ball? Maybe you could play with them too."
I take one look at her glowing face
I don't even hesitate. I'm out of the car in two seconds flat.
"Hey!" I call out. "Wait!"
Within one or two steps, I'm soaked to the skin, but based on the three inches of mud coating the bottom of her shoes, and the bits of leaves stuck in her hair, she must've taken the more scenic route, struggling through all the brush and undergrowth between here and the stadium.
I approach her from behind, and she stops but doesn't turn around. As I get closer, her breath becomes visible on the damp air. Her jacket is hanging open and her whole body is trembling with cold.
"Where's my little Lukey?"
I go rigid. Oh my God, it's Luke's mom! What in the world is she doing out here ?
"Mrs. Singleton?" I cry out. "Are you okay?"
I lightly place my arm around her shoulders, and she shrugs me off. "Mrs. Singleton?" she grumbles. "All of Lukey's friends call me Mrs. S."
She doesn't know me, and she's probably afraid. But her teeth are chattering and her lips are turning blue. I don't have time to stand around and argue with her. I need to get her out of the rain.
"Lukey sent me to pick you up," I respond, using the name of the person she just mentioned, a little tip I picked up from working in the Alzheimer's ward.
And for a second, the deadness leaves her eyes. "He did?"
I nod. "Yeah, he's worried that you're not gonna get to see the end of the game."
"Lukey's here?" she asks, angling her head to look at me as the rain trickles down her face. "Where's my little Lukey?"
My heart contracts at hearing her call him that, just like she did last night when she was scared.
I reply using key trigger words to get her to respond to me. "No, Lukey's back at Beaver Field . He asked me to take you there. How does that sound, Mrs. Single— Mrs. S.?"
She knits her eyebrows, her wet hair plastered to her face. "Okay…" she answers uncertainly.
I smile at her. "Good. Follow me."
This time, I don't touch her. Instead, I just start walking toward the car. Holding my breath, all I hear is the drumbeat of rain hitting the ground, so I slow down until it's eventually accompanied by the welcome sound of her shoes slogging through the mud behind me. I proceed on ahead and hold the door open for her, and thankfully, she gets into the car without any fuss.
"Buckle up, please," I say as cheerfully as I can, testing to see how much she trusts me.
When she complies, I quickly shut the door and scoot back behind the wheel. Not liking how her hands are so red while the ends of her fingers are turning white, I crank up the heat full blast. The temperature outside is hovering around forty-five degrees, well above freezing, but she's frail and hypothermia still poses a danger. She's so thin, making me wonder what her diet's like and if it's hard for Luke to get her to eat. I should see if she likes …
I stop myself. No, just because I found her doesn't mean I'm staying. Nothing's changed. Luke obviously didn't want my help. If he did, he would've asked for it, and I'm not going to force myself upon him. It wouldn't be right for so many reasons .
The road's narrow, and I'm inwardly debating if I have enough room to turn around or if I should just back all the way out when she asks, "You said Senior's playing today?"
"Senior?"
"Yeah, Senior," she mutters impatiently. "My husband."
I bite my lip, turning the wheel as far as it will go. "No, not your husband, Mrs. S. Your son, Luke Singleton, Junior."
"My son doesn't play baseball anymore," she mumbles as my tires start to spin in the mud.
Great … The last thing I need is to get stuck out here when she's in desperate need of a warm change of clothes.
"Oh, is that right?" I respond, distractedly.
"Yes, he plays T-ball with his father," she says, beaming with pride. "You should see the nice little field he made for Lukey out in the backyard. Do you play T-ball? Maybe you could play with them too."
I take one look at her glowing face
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