Twenty-One
THE BAXTER FAMILY TOOK TURNS HOLDING VIGIL IN THE WAITing room at the Bloomington Hospital — but Ashley never left. Not since Landon was brought in five days ago. Ashley had asked her extended family to keep the situation quiet … so they wouldn’t have a host of visitors. Landon was fighting for his life, after all. The newspaper had reported the death of the old man, the one Landon found in the fire just before his near fatal asthma attack. They had referred to the fact that one firefighter had been seriously injured, but they didn’t follow up with a name or other details. Ashley remained grateful for that.
She couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if the paper printed the truth — that Landon was still in a coma, still not able to breathe on his own.
The Baxters were so well known in Bloomington that if word got out about how serious Landon’s situation really was, they would have a waiting room full of dear friends around the clock. And while it would’ve been nice to have hundreds of people praying for him, for now it was enough to have the Baxter family involved. At least that’s how Ashley felt today.
The doctor had been in earlier this morning, and for the first time since Landon’s hospitalization, the news wasn’t entirely bad. “His lungs are making progress … healing from the attack.”
“So maybe …” She stood, the news so good she couldn’t stay seated. “Maybe it isn’t polymyositis?”
Dr. Jacobs’ enthusiasm faded. “Ashley, the diagnosis is separate from the asthma attack … separate from the smoke damage. He has to get past this crisis before we can talk about the lung disease. If he …” he stopped himself and stared at the ground for a second before finding Ashley’s eyes again. “When he comes out of this … he’ll still be very sick. You need to keep that in mind.”
Ashley didn’t want to keep it in mind. She was going crazy sitting in this hospital room, begging God to bring Landon back, desperate for him to open his eyes and look at her … breathless for him to smile at her and tell her what she wanted to know more than anything in the world. That he was okay. That no matter what the tests showed, his lungs were fine.
The room was quiet. Cole, Devin, and Janessa had been in half an hour ago, but now Kari had taken them home to her house. She and her husband, Ryan, were taking care of all three kids until Landon woke up. And he would wake up. Ashley stared at the clock on the wall. A little before nine in the evening. The kids planned to go to school tomorrow, and then Kari would bring them over around three, when they got out. During the day, her dad would come by the way he’d done every afternoon since the fire.
But for now she was alone with Landon … the way she wanted to be. Only when they were alone could she utter her most intense prayers, the ones that she was sure God would hear. She stared at the man she loved, at the steady, uniform way his chest rose and fell. At first watching him breathe like that had been a comfort — because at least he was breathing. But now every breath, every movement of his chest made her cringe. Because there was nothing natural about it. The movement was mechanical, the result of a machine breathing air into him.
“Breathe, baby … I’m here.” She stood over his bed, brushing her fingers against his face, his shoulder. Along the length of his arms. “Feel me, Landon … I’m here, baby. Breathe.” She let her hand settle on his bicep, on the muscle that still bore the signs of health and life. Landon had always been strong, but more so now. Since his diagnosis. He had no guarantee what his health might become, so he spent more time than usual in the gym … lifting weights, doing pushups. Anything to keep his strength.
She loved being in his arms, and even now it took all her willpower not to climb into bed beside him and drape his motionless arms around her body. Landon’s arms that so easily could lift their children and heave a fire hose into a burning house. The arms that had hauled a man from the flames of a fully engulfed dwelling just in case he might have a chance to live.
From what she’d heard today, Dr. Jacobs said it looked like the man’s wife wasn’t going to make it either. They’d been in their nineties — high school sweethearts married nearly seventy years and living with their granddaughter. Everyone else in the house had made it out. She stared at her husband, at his face and his closed eyes. Even asleep he looked kind and willing to help. No matter what disease was attacking his lungs, Landon would’ve done it all again. He would’ve spent those months at Ground Zero searching for the body of his firefighter friend Jalen … and he would’ve gone into the burning house looking for the old man.
It was how Landon was wired.
She closed her eyes, her hand tighter around his arm than before. Dear Lord … I know You are here … and I know You hear me. She hesitated, and for a few seconds she could remember herself praying this same sort of prayer for her dying mother. And her infant daughter. God didn’t always answer prayers the way she wanted Him to, but He was always near when a person prayed. No matter how difficult the road ahead, Ashley believed that.
Still … there was a limit to how much a person could take, right? Wasn’t that why God said His people wouldn’t have to fight the battles of life? Take up your positions and see the deliverance the Lord will give you. The verse was from 2 Chronicles 20:17, words Ashley had memorized in the past few days. Yes, God would fight for her … and she need only take up her position and watch Him win the battle. But right now everything seemed at a stand still.
Father … I want to trust You, I want to lean on You with every passing minute. But please, Lord … let Landon breathe on his own. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. Breathe life into him so that he doesn’t need these machines, Father … Thank You. Even though I don’t see the answer, I thank You.
She opened her eyes and sat back down. As she did she slid her hand through the bars on the hospital bed and held onto Landon’s forearm. “I’m still here, Landon … I’ll be here until you wake up.”
Her Bible sat on the bedside next to him, and Ashley decided to read. This was what she loved about her time alone here. She could memorize Scripture, pray whenever she wanted, and talk to Landon. Almost like they were alone in their room back home and he were only sleeping now. She opened the Bible to the chapter in 2 Chronicles. No matter how many times she read about the battle God’s people were in, and how He delivered them, the story never grew old. For only as the Israelites began to sing and praise the Lord did the enemy begin to fall.
As she read, the door opened and Cole slipped inside. His eyes were wide, as if he expected Ashley to be upset with him for returning to the hospital room. “Honey … why are you here?” The kids were supposed to be getting ready for bed with Kari and Ryan. Ashley had no idea any of them were still here. “I thought you already left.”
“Grandpa said he’d take me over there later.” He came closer, his eyes on Landon. “I know you said it’s quiet time now. But … I thought if I sat on the other side of him. Maybe he might wake up if he had two of us here.”
Ashley set the Bible down on the nightstand again and held out her arms to him. “Come here, Cole.”
He went to her, and she stood to hug him. He was almost taller than her now, her grown-up little boy. “Thank you, buddy.”
“Yeah.” He stepped back. “And I didn’t want you to be alone for so long.”
He walked around the bed and took the chair on the other side. “Is he any better?”
Cole asked this all the time, and always Ashley hated her answer. But there was no way around it. She sighed and gave Cole her most optimistic smile. “I can’t tell. But Dr. Jacobs said his lungs are doing more of the work on their own. Remember? From earlier?”
“Yes.” Cole reached through the bars of the bed and took hold of his dad’s other hand. For a long time he looked at Landon, clearly deep in thought. She could read the Bible later. For now she wanted to hold onto this image, the picture of Cole sitting next to Landon, probably praying for him, begging God for a miracle. “He’s my real dad. Right, Mom? I mean, just because he wasn’t there when I was born …”
Ashley’s heart felt like it might rip in half. She stood and went to the other side of the bed. With her hand on Cole’s shoulder, she stared at Landon and searched for the right words for their son. “He’s definitely your real dad.”
“Yeah, because one of the guys on the baseball team was talking about his step-dad and he said that since he wasn’t his biological dad, he wasn’t really his dad.” Cole looked back at her, squinting to keep the tears in his eyes from falling onto his cheeks. “So I just wanted to make sure … you know? That Dad was my real dad.”
This wasn’t a time for lessons on biology and DNA. Cole simply needed reassuring. “Yes, this is different than a step-dad situation. You never had a real dad until Landon came along.” She didn’t mention that Landon might’ve been his biological dad, too, if only she hadn’t been so stubborn in the years after high school. Anyway, life didn’t work like that. Cole was who he was because of his biological father — a married artist from Paris, who had died several years back of AIDS. Details Cole certainly didn’t need to know now … maybe ever.
“Remember my bracelet?” Cole looked at her. “The one I wore a few years ago. It said PUSH — Pray Until Something Happens.”
“I remember.” Ashley’s heart was full for the way she loved this boy … the way she had always loved him. “Whatever happened to it?”
“I found it last night in my sock drawer.” He held up his arm and pushed his sweatshirt back. Sure enough the green rubbery bracelet was back on his arm, where he’d worn it for nearly a year back when he was nine or ten. “That’s how it is now. We have to pray until something happens.”
He looked at Landon, and then up at her. “You can sit down, Mom. It’s okay. Read the Bible if you want. I’ll keep praying.”
This was Cole trying to be the man of the family, looking out for her and letting her know that he would stand sentry in prayer — so that she wasn’t alone, so that she didn’t have to carry this burden by herself. It was further proof of how Cole was growing up, how very much like Landon he was becoming.
She bent down and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, buddy.” Once she was back in her chair, she took the Bible onto her lap. But she still didn’t open it. The sight of her son and her husband together was one she couldn’t break herself away from. After a few minutes, Cole began to pat Landon’s hand, his forearm. And as he did he began to sing a song they’d sung in church lately … it was by Chris Tomlin, Ashley was pretty sure.
Cole wasn’t the most gifted singer, but when he reached the chorus, she had never heard a more beautiful song in all her life. “Our God is greater … our God is stronger … God you are higher than any other …” His voice wasn’t overly loud, but it filled the room with the peace of the Holy Spirit. Ashley slid her chair closer to the bed and held onto the scene before her.
Every word of the song Cole knew by heart — further proof of his new interest in worship songs. It sang of God being Healer and having a most awesome power, and Cole sang it for all he was worth. Ashley remembered what he’d said a month ago, how worshipping God in song was his favorite part of church. “When we’re all standing and singing,” he’d told her, “it’s like Jesus is right there with us.”
The same could be said now. Dear Lord … listen to that boy. Please, Father … Let Landon hear him too. Please let him find enough strength in his lungs to wake up … to breathe on his own without the machines. Please, God. We are at Your mercy …
“Our God is greater … our God is stronger … God you are higher than any other …”
Cole was on his second round of singing the same song when Ashley saw something move … something near the pillow. She was on her feet almost instantly, and across from her Cole stopped his song mid-note. “What was that?”
“I’m not sure.” She stared at Landon’s face, searching it for any sign of movement. “I thought I saw something … like maybe he moved.”
“Me too.” Cole stood, studying Landon. “Dad, … can you hear us?”
Then, as if he’d only been taking a nap and not unconscious since Tuesday, Landon slowly blinked and peered at Cole. First at Cole.
Ashley gasped and brought her fingers to her lips. Dear God. Thank You … thank You for this miracle … thank You.
“Hi, Dad.” Cole’s tears spilled onto his cheeks, but a smile stretched across his face. “Can you hear me?”
Landon ran his tongue over his lower lip and swallowed a few times. The tube in his mouth made it impossible for him to say much, but even so he managed a slight smile at Cole and he mouthed the words, “I heard … you sing.”
“Landon!” Her tears came harder than Cole’s, but they were mixed with a giddy sort of laughter. He was back! Landon had come out of his coma! This was the miracle they were praying for, and now she couldn’t break herself away to call his doctor. “Baby, I’m here.”
He couldn’t turn his head easily—too long laying here in one position. But as he heard her voice, he strained to see her. And when their eyes met, his teared up. “I … I couldn’t breathe.” Every word was distorted by the tubing, and she figured it might not be wise for him to get too active.
“I know, baby … we’ve been praying for you. All of us.” Without taking her eyes from his, she reached for his call button and pressed it. “We all believed you would wake up. And here you are!”
“Yeah, Dad. It’s been like five days.” Cole laughed, but the sound was marked by the cry in his voice. “That’s the longest nap ever.”
Landon sent a quick smile in Cole’s direction, but then he returned his gaze to Ashley. His eyes said everything his body couldn’t say — not yet anyway. They told her that he hadn’t wanted to die, and that with everything in him he had fought for this chance, this moment to be here with her. Alive with her. A single tear spilled out of the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek onto his pillow. He tried to move, tried to reach up and touch her face. But there were too many wires connected to his arms, and he let his hand fall back to the bed.
“Can I help you?” It was the voice of the nurse, coming through the tinny speaker on the emergency call button.
“Yes.” Ashley laughed and again the sound came out more as a cry. “My husband is awake. Can you please tell Dr. Jacobs. Someone needs to come in right away.”
“Question …” Landon looked from Ashley to Cole. “Who won … the game?”
Both Cole and Ashley laughed out loud. “Dad, really? You even need to ask?” Cole put his hands on his hips, his chin high. “Your championship Yankees, of course.”
He was clearly weak, and there was no way to tell what lay ahead. But Landon managed to give a thumbs-up to Cole just as Dr. Jacobs walked into the room. “Look at this,” the doctor announced. “You’re awake!”
“It was my singing.” Cole put his hand on Landon’s shoulder. His eyes were dry now, the joy in his face too great for tears at this point. “I was singing to him and he woke up.”
Not until later, when the doctor had checked Landon’s lung function enough to take him off the respirator, and even long after Cole had gone to Kari’s with his grandpa, and Ashley was alone once more with Landon, did she process all that had happened that night, the way God had worked a miracle in their midst. Landon was tired — something the doctor said was to be expected. His road to recovery was still ongoing — and even then there was the next battle. The one with polymyositis. But for now one very strong truth kept her company as she watched Landon sleep — finally free of the machines and wires. Everything but his IV bag.
Like in the days of 2 Chronicles, the battle had been won not when Ashley fretted over Landon or when she cried out for help or tried to figure out what she could do to save him. Rather the battle for Landon’s life was won while she merely took up her position at her husband’s bedside, and in the most simple way of all.
While Cole was singing.
LANDON HAD BEEN OUT OF THE HOSPITAL for two days, long enough that the doctor had cleared him to be at this evening’s baseball game. It was the last Wednesday in April, the last game in regular season. After eight years of batting practice and fielding practice and car washes to raise money for his team … after coming to this field several days a week every spring, it had come to this.
Cole’s very last Little League game.
From here they would move to another field. Some of the kids would play in the Amateur Athletic Union league and others would choose the more established Metro team. But this, their time together on this field, where they’d grown up from T-ball … after tonight this stage of their lives would be over.
Her dad and Elaine, her sisters, Luke, and their families — everyone had made it out for the occasion. Everyone except Dayne and Katie who were in Los Angeles working on a movie this month. Ashley looked around and she was hit by a realization. The kids were blissfully unaware of the lasts at hand, at the way the clock was stealing today a little too quickly. Of course they were unaware. Kids didn’t grasp the significance of the moment. But her siblings did. Cole was the oldest of the grandchildren, but their turns were coming. The last swimming lesson. Last soccer game. Last ballet recital. Kids didn’t stay that way … it was the hardest thing about being a parent. And moments like this they could only soak it in … hold onto every inning, the way the sun streaked through the distant trees and splashed light across the ball field, the crack of the bat, and the chatter from the dugout.
They belonged here today. Cole belonged here. But only for another handful of innings.
“Come on, Coley!” Devin was on his feet beside her. “Hit it outta the park, baby!”
Beside her on the other side, Ashley’s father chuckled. “That one’s going to be a handful, I have a feeling about him.”
“Me too.” Ashley positioned Janessa in her lap and pointed to the batter’s box. “Watch Cole, Nessa … it’s his turn.”
Landon was in the dugout, where he wanted to be. He had his inhaler with him, but so far Dr. Jacobs had him on enough steroids that he didn’t struggle to breathe. He only coughed every so often — and not like before his steroid treatment started. She watched him now, standing just outside the dugout, flashing hand signals to Cole. “That-away, Cole. Level swing … Just make contact, buddy. You got this.”
From the dugout, Cole’s teammates cheered him on, clinging to the chain link fence. “Come on, Big C!” Thomas bellowed at Cole.
“Yeah, come on Cole. You got this.”
The kids didn’t know the extent of Landon’s injuries, or the severity of his time in the hospital. No one did, really. They’d managed to keep it quiet, which was what Landon wanted. Whatever the future held, they would deal with it soon. Landon had more tests in a week, and a consultation about next steps.
Already Dr. Jacobs had ordered him off work. Depending on what the last few tests showed, Landon may have fought his last fire. Something neither of them had discussed yet. Landon wanted to focus on the baseball season for now. “I feel fine,” he told her on the way to the park. “I’ll be back to work in a few weeks.” He smiled at her, his hand on the wheel. “I’m not ready to think about the other options.”
Ashley was pretty sure she’d never be ready. And for now there was no need to think about it. She looked over the shoulder of the woman in front of her. Christine was the scorekeeper, and a quick glance told Ashley what she should’ve already known. It was the fifth inning, top of the order. Two outs. The team they were playing was tough, but the Yankees were up one run with three runners on base.
“You see what’s happening, right?” Kari leaned in from behind. “This is probably Cole’s last at-bat. One more inning and they can put this one away.”
Ashley stared at her son, and uttered the sort of prayer she often said when he was up to bat, or pitching, or before he took the field. Dear Lord … I know wins and losses aren’t the most important thing. But right now, I pray You would bless Cole beyond anything we could ask or imagine. Not for him, Father … but to show the world what a bright light can come from a boy just twelve years old — even here in the midst of a baseball game.
The first pitch came whizzing over the plate a little high, and Cole let it go.
“Steeeerrrrike!” The umpire pointed at the plate, indicating that the ball had been thrown perfectly.
Ashley raised one eyebrow, but she didn’t say anything. Strikes were in the eyes of the umpire. Anyway, Lord … thank You. No matter what happens with Cole right now, thank You for letting him play baseball. For letting Landon coach him. I’ll never forget this, Father.
She remembered Cole’s first basketball game six years ago, and how she had caught herself getting a little too involved, too enthusiastic. She’d tempered her courtside behavior since then, because what did it really matter how the ref called a game or whether a pitch really was a strike or not? What mattered was this … her family gathered around to watch, celebrating the spirit of the game and the kids who played it.
“Come on, Big C. You got this one.” Avery joined Thomas at the fence. “This is your pitch, buddy …”
Landon stood beside them. “Nice and even. Eye on the ball, Cole.” He clapped a few times, his sign of encouragement for Cole. “Here we go …”
The pitch flew from the mound, and this time Cole swung and missed. Two strikes. The next two pitches were in the dirt, and a third went over his head. Full count. And suddenly Ashley felt knots in her stomach. This was it … this was really it. She glanced at her sister Brooke to make sure she was videotaping. She was. Her eyes found Cole again, and she did everything in her power to memorize the moment. Cole at bat on this field they’d come to love … the field they’d played at with these same kids year after year after year.
“I can see it, Cole … this one’s yours.” That was it, all Landon said.
In a flash, the ball left the pitcher’s hand and raced toward home plate. As if the play were happening in slow motion, Cole took what looked like the perfect cut at the ball, his swing level and full, his hips turning at just the right time and then —
CRACK!
The bat connected and the ball was gone … it was gone as soon as he hit it, and everyone in both sets of stands knew it. People jumped to their feet and the Yankees dugout burst into shouts and hoots and hollers. And sure enough, the ball sailed over the fence and into the distant field where a couple of young boys — T-ball boys — ran after it.
“Homerun!” The team shouted in celebration.
All around her people were cheering and shouting Cole’s name. “That’s a grand slam, baby! Grand slam for the Yankees!”
Above the other sounds, Ashley heard the one voice that was only in the mix because God had worked a miracle that week. The voice of Landon. “Way to go, son! That-a-boy … way to go!” Landon led the team out of the dugout and onto the field toward home base as Cole followed the other base runners around first and second and kept running.
“Cole running!” Janessa pointed at her brother.
“Yes, baby. Cole’s running all the way around!”
“Homerun!” Devin jumped up and down on the bleacher beside her. “My brother hit a homerun!”
Ashley brought her hands to her face and watched, watched every stride and the way Cole’s smile stretched beneath his batting helmet. The way his cleats kicked up the dust with each step and the joy with which he stepped on each base as he ran. She didn’t dare blink or look away or do anything but hold onto the moment. Past second base Cole pointed one finger to heaven — his way of thanking God, like he’d done the two other times he’d hit a homerun this season.
The entire team gathered at home plate, and Cole rounded third and headed toward them. Again he pointed up, and then he pointed at them, his teammates, the players he’d grown up with at this ballpark. All of them were there … Thomas and Avery and Mitchell … Nick and Michael and Derek and Eric. Kids who had learned the game together. Kids who had won and lost together, and who would now have to learn how to say goodbye together.
How to leave this Little League field and move on.
Cole’s sandlot boys.
As soon as he touched home base, the boys surrounded him, slapping his back and holding his hand in the air, pumping their fists and celebrating the win. The game wasn’t over, but fifteen minutes later, when Avery made the last out catching a pop-up at short-stop, it was. The Yankees had won … and as Ashley stood and cheered with the other parents, she didn’t mind the tears that streamed down her face. There was no telling what lay ahead for Landon. For their family. But tonight … on a warm spring Wednesday at the end of April, Cole had won his last Little League game.
Sometime after the last out, the T-ball boy who had found Cole’s homerun ball ran it over to him, his eyes big as he looked up to Cole. It was easy to read the admiration in his face, and Ashley listened from her place in the bleachers. “Here, Cole … you were great tonight!”
“Thanks, bud.” Cole took the ball and gave the boy a high five. Then without hesitating, he walked over to Landon and tapped him on the arm. Ashley knew what he was about to do, but his actions brought tears to her eyes anyway. Cole hugged his father for a long while. He said something to Landon, probably thanking him for coaching the season, and for being the best dad ever. The sort of thing Cole often said. Then he handed Landon his homerun ball. And after another hug, he ran off with his teammates.
Landon must’ve felt her watching, because he looked straight at her and held up the ball. Even from across the field, Ashley could see Landon’s eyes glistening. Because how many little boys had the chance to end their Little League career with a grand slam homerun? And because how wonderful it was that Landon was Cole’s father … and that he was here … alive for a game like this.
He tucked the ball in his pocket and returned to the boys — all of whom were forming a group so that the team photographer could snap pictures. Capturing the moment for the record books. Like the other parents, Ashley stayed while the league commissioner awarded the Yankees their first-place medals. And while the boys cleaned trash from the dugout. And as the dads joined Landon on the field raking down the dirt infield for the next game … the next team. Ashley watched all of it, watched while the boys hugged each other, all laughter and loud voices … replaying the highlights and Cole’s homerun again and again and again. No tears for these boys, not tonight.
It wouldn’t hit them until later — when they were home and sorting through their photos and trophies — what had just happened. That their time together was over. But maybe that was better. Because it allowed Ashley and the other parents to stand here, mesmerized … watching their boys in their Yankees uniforms collecting bats and working as a team this one last time. Until every last one of them gathered his gear bag and headed off with his parents. Until these Yankees faded from view and the field stood empty of Cole’s sandlot boys.
For now and all time.