“No, he can’t. I asked him once. He said he tunes us out.”
“No, he tunes you out because you taunt the umpires.”
“Do not.”
This time Liam turns and shoots me a look of exasperation. “Seriously, Josie, you’re acting like you’re five. Hell, Eden is more mature than you are right now.”
I look down the bench at Eden, who has chocolate ice cream all over her face.
“Great, now I want ice cream.”
Liam shakes his head and focuses on the game, which I should be doing. The second pitch is a ball, followed by a strike.
“He’s ahead in the count,” I say, poking Liam in the shoulder.
“No wonder Katelyn doesn’t sit with you,” he says as he tries to ignore me.
I can’t help that I’m nervous for our son, who is pitching in the biggest game of his life right now. I want to run out there and hold him.
Noah winds up and lets go of the ball. Before I can grasp what is happening, Noah throws his glove up in the air and jumps into Junior’s arms.
I stand and look at Liam. “They won! Oh my god, Liam, they won!” He gives me a quick hug before he starts celebrating. I know he wants to be out on the field with Noah and hates that it’s Nick that got them this far. He’s so proud, though; he doesn’t say anything to Noah when he chooses to go practice with Nick instead of hanging out.
When the presentations are over, we pick up all of our stuff and head out to meet Noah. I tried telling Liam to go on ahead, but he’s waiting for me, helping me down the stairs. A lot of parents are gathering at the entrance where the players will come out, each of us proud, but half of us somber because someone had to lose. Thing is, if your son or daughter makes it this far, they have nothing to hang their heads about. This is the best there is in Little League Baseball.
Noah comes running out and right into Liam’s arms. I’ll never get over the sight of those two together.
A warm sensation washes over me, causing me to feel lightheaded. Hands are grabbing at me, telling me to lie down, but I can’t see who’s talking to me. I can only see Liam and Noah.
“Josie?” I can hear my dad calling my name, but he seems so far away.
“Someone call 9-1-1.”
Yes, I think that would be a good idea.
“MOM!”
Noah’s blood curdling scream causes me to freeze. I try to hang on to him as he pushes himself out of my arms, but I’m unable to. Everything is happening in slow motion. The way Noah is falling out of my arms, the way I’m turning just in time to see my wife start to fall to the ground, the way people are looming around her, but moving at a snail’s pace.
“Josie!” My words are muffled and sound robotic and it takes me what seems like an hour to get to her when she’s only a few feet away.
Her father is there to help her to the ground, and someone is yelling for 9-1-1. I’m by her side, holding her hand and trying to get the words that are running through my head out of my mouth.
“NICK!” I scream as loud as I can. He’s a doctor. He’ll know what to do.
“Josie, baby, can you hear me?” Her lips move, but there’s no sound coming out of her mouth. Next to me, Noah is crying, begging his mother to wake-up. I look up at the people around us, all family, all concerned.
“Where’s the damn ambulance?”
“It’s on its way, Liam,” Jenna tells me as she holds a crying Eden in her arms. I turn my attention back to Josie and check for a pulse. She has one, but I’m not sure if it’s normal.
Nick and Xander bust their way through the on-lookers and bend down next to her.
“What happened?”
“She was watching Noah and Liam and started to wobble. I caught her before she fell,” Mr. Preston tells Nick, who has his pen light out and is shining it in her eyes. He’s doing things I’ve never seen him do before. I’ve only seen him be a part of my son’s life, not trying to save one.
“Nick, is my mom going to be okay?”
“We need to get her to the hospital so she can be looked at. Remember, Buddy, I’m a doctor for kids like you.” But that doesn’t stop Nick from checking her over. When he places his hands on her belly, I start to panic.
“Ashford, is something wrong with the baby?”
“I can’t tell, but I believe she’s in labor.”
“It’s too early,” both her mom and mine say at the same time. I glance quickly and find them standing together, holding each other.
I’ve never been so relieved to hear sirens in my life. The EMT’s are instructing people to get out of their way as they bring the gurney over to us.
“What happened here?” One of them asks, but is only focusing on Josie. Her father recounts the story while they take quick vitals and place a backboard under her.
“How far along is she?”
“Um… thirty-five weeks.” Answering that question is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I used to think nothing would compare to finding my grandma on the floor or watching JD go down, but this, by far, is the worst.