and put the car into park, placing her left hand in both of mine. "I got this one. Now hold the other one up to the vent."
She does as she's told, staring at me with her big, doe eyes. "But it hurts," she whimpers.
"That's good," I encourage. "That means the circulation's coming back."
My fingers run over a blister on the inside of her palm, and I turn it over. It appears she's burned herself, and quite recently, by the looks of it. "What happened here?"
But all she does is sigh before playing with the zipper on her jacket, already forgetting to keep her hand up next to the heat.
Luke obviously has his hands full with her. She's still communicative, but barely. Her mind is unable to grasp any sense of the present, except when it comes to extreme instances of pain or discomfort, which makes her a hazard to herself and to others. At this stage, she really should be in a qualified facility, not living with a son who's not trained in providing adequate, twenty-four-hour care.
It's not his fault. It's amazing he's gotten her this far without encountering any major catastrophes. But the burn on her hand, and her running away today, are two serious signs things can't go on as they are.
I release her hand and turn my attention back to the road, feeling unsettled. Whether or not Luke can play has nothing to do with it. His mom needs me. I'm a caregiver. I take care of people. That's what I do. And my heart is crying out for me to help them.
The sound of my car is what lured her out, causing her to stumble onto the road. If we didn't cross paths when we did, she probably would've wandered deeper and deeper into the woods, with a very real possibility of not being found until it was too late.
I hold my foot over the gas, ready to give it another try. But before I do, I gaze over at her as she begins to rock back and forth, humming to herself. Her eyes are shut tight, and she has her arms wrapped around her body. With my eyes welling up, I look away.
Do I really have it in me to turn my back on her now?
"C'mon," I whisper, choking up. "Let's go find your little Lukey."
Chapter Seven
Luke
The umpires, after seeing the steady band of rain moving in on radar, decided to call the game. Now the Beavers and the Jackalopes will pick it up in a twi-night doubleheader tomorrow. If I were playing, my muscles would already be aching me. But I'm not. Not after I talk to…
"Thanks for helpin' to drag the tarp out onto the field, Single." Landry's big, booming voice greets me the moment I step out of the clubhouse. "'Cause, let me tell ya, the guys who didn't pitch in are about to get their asses handed to them by yours truly. I'm not gonna tolerate any slackers on this team."
He's rubbing a towel over his wet hair, and I cautiously raise my eyes to his. Is he out here…waiting for me ? I swallow. Does he know? Did Roberta tell him about Mom ?
I shrug. "No big deal."
"See, that's what I like about you, Single. You're old school," he says, slinging the towel over his shoulder. "Not many guys feel the way you do. Hell, some of them won't even pick up the balls in the cage after BP." He exhales loudly through his nose before giving me a lopsided grin. "But your daddy taught you how to play the game the right way, son. So just keep on doin' what you're doin', and for now, don't worry about the results." He claps me on the back. "They'll come."
"But…"
"Nah, no buts about it." He raises his hands in the air. "Tomorrow's another day. Let's see what happens then. One day at a time, Single. One day at a time."
I tug on the laces of my hoodie. "But my mom…"
He turns around with his hand on the door. This is it. The battle royale .
"Gosh, darn it. I'm sorry, Single." He smacks his forehead. "But I gotta git my butt to the airport right quick after I ream out these numskulls in here. Ya see, my boy, Jason, has a digital art show goin' on at school tomorrow, and I promised him I wouldn't miss it. So please give your mama my regards.
She does as she's told, staring at me with her big, doe eyes. "But it hurts," she whimpers.
"That's good," I encourage. "That means the circulation's coming back."
My fingers run over a blister on the inside of her palm, and I turn it over. It appears she's burned herself, and quite recently, by the looks of it. "What happened here?"
But all she does is sigh before playing with the zipper on her jacket, already forgetting to keep her hand up next to the heat.
Luke obviously has his hands full with her. She's still communicative, but barely. Her mind is unable to grasp any sense of the present, except when it comes to extreme instances of pain or discomfort, which makes her a hazard to herself and to others. At this stage, she really should be in a qualified facility, not living with a son who's not trained in providing adequate, twenty-four-hour care.
It's not his fault. It's amazing he's gotten her this far without encountering any major catastrophes. But the burn on her hand, and her running away today, are two serious signs things can't go on as they are.
I release her hand and turn my attention back to the road, feeling unsettled. Whether or not Luke can play has nothing to do with it. His mom needs me. I'm a caregiver. I take care of people. That's what I do. And my heart is crying out for me to help them.
The sound of my car is what lured her out, causing her to stumble onto the road. If we didn't cross paths when we did, she probably would've wandered deeper and deeper into the woods, with a very real possibility of not being found until it was too late.
I hold my foot over the gas, ready to give it another try. But before I do, I gaze over at her as she begins to rock back and forth, humming to herself. Her eyes are shut tight, and she has her arms wrapped around her body. With my eyes welling up, I look away.
Do I really have it in me to turn my back on her now?
"C'mon," I whisper, choking up. "Let's go find your little Lukey."
Chapter Seven
Luke
The umpires, after seeing the steady band of rain moving in on radar, decided to call the game. Now the Beavers and the Jackalopes will pick it up in a twi-night doubleheader tomorrow. If I were playing, my muscles would already be aching me. But I'm not. Not after I talk to…
"Thanks for helpin' to drag the tarp out onto the field, Single." Landry's big, booming voice greets me the moment I step out of the clubhouse. "'Cause, let me tell ya, the guys who didn't pitch in are about to get their asses handed to them by yours truly. I'm not gonna tolerate any slackers on this team."
He's rubbing a towel over his wet hair, and I cautiously raise my eyes to his. Is he out here…waiting for me ? I swallow. Does he know? Did Roberta tell him about Mom ?
I shrug. "No big deal."
"See, that's what I like about you, Single. You're old school," he says, slinging the towel over his shoulder. "Not many guys feel the way you do. Hell, some of them won't even pick up the balls in the cage after BP." He exhales loudly through his nose before giving me a lopsided grin. "But your daddy taught you how to play the game the right way, son. So just keep on doin' what you're doin', and for now, don't worry about the results." He claps me on the back. "They'll come."
"But…"
"Nah, no buts about it." He raises his hands in the air. "Tomorrow's another day. Let's see what happens then. One day at a time, Single. One day at a time."
I tug on the laces of my hoodie. "But my mom…"
He turns around with his hand on the door. This is it. The battle royale .
"Gosh, darn it. I'm sorry, Single." He smacks his forehead. "But I gotta git my butt to the airport right quick after I ream out these numskulls in here. Ya see, my boy, Jason, has a digital art show goin' on at school tomorrow, and I promised him I wouldn't miss it. So please give your mama my regards.
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