Nicholas Sparks - The Rescue

Kyle, however, had grown bored with the game after only an inning and had taken to playing under and on top of the bleachers, climbing and jumping, running here and there. With so many people around, it made Denise nervous to lose sight of him, and she stood up to look for him on more than a few occasions.

Whenever she did, Taylor found his eyes darting that way. Earlier he’d seen her arrive with Kyle, holding his hand and walking slowly as she scanned the bleachers, oblivious of the fact that men were turning their heads as she strode past them. But Taylor had seen the stares, had seen them admiring the way she looked: her white shirt tucked into black shorts, long legs stretching down to matching sandals, dark windblown hair flowing past her shoulders. And for a reason he didn’t quite understand, he found himself envious of the fact that his mother-not he-would be sitting with her.

Her presence was distracting, and not only because he kept thinking about the things Melissa had said. The bleachers where she was sitting were between home and first base; his position at third base made it impossible not to see her sitting in the stands. Still, he couldn’t seem to stop glancing her way, as if to make sure she hadn’t left. He chided himself whenever he did it-wondering why it mattered-but would catch himself at it a moment later. Once, his stare had lasted a little too long, and she waved.

He waved back with an embarrassed grin and turned away, wondering why on earth he suddenly felt like a damn teenager again.

“So that’s her, huh?” Mitch asked as they were sitting in the dugout between innings.

“Who?”

“Denise, the one sitting with your mother.”

“I didn’t really notice,” Taylor said as he absently twirled his bat, doing his best to appear uninterested.

“You were right,” Mitch said.

“About what?”

“She is pretty.”

“I didn’t say that. Melissa said it.”

“Oh,” Mitch said, “right.”

Taylor turned his attention to the game, and Mitch followed his eyes.

“Then why were you staring at her?” he finally asked.

“I wasn’t staring at her.”

“Oh,” Mitch said again, nodding. He didn’t even try to hide his smirk.

In the seventh inning, with the score 14-12, the Volunteers were trailing when Taylor was waiting for his turn at bat. Kyle had taken a break from his activities and was standing near the fence when he saw Taylor taking his practice swings.

“Hewwo, Tayer,” he said happily, just as he’d done when he’d seen him at Merchants.

Taylor turned at the sound of his voice and approached the fence.

“Hey there, Kyle. Good to see you. How you doing?”

“He’s fowman,” Kyle said, pointing.

“I sure am. Are you having fun watching the game?”

Instead of answering, Kyle held up his airplane for Taylor to see.

“Whatcha got there, little man?”

“Owpwane.”

“You’re right. That’s a nice airplane.”

“You can hold it.” (You kin hode it)

Kyle handed it through the fence, and Taylor hesitated before taking it. He examined it as Kyle watched him, a look of pride on his little face. Over his shoulder, Taylor heard his name being called to the plate.

“Thanks for showing me your airplane. Do you want it back?”

“You can hold it,” Kyle said again.

Taylor debated for a moment before deciding. “Okay, this’ll be my good-luck charm. I’ll bring it right back.” He made sure that Kyle could see him put it in his pocket, and Kyle rolled his hands together.

“Is that all right?” Taylor asked.

Kyle didn’t answer, but he seemed to be fine with it.

Taylor waited to make sure, then finally jogged home. Denise nodded in Kyle’s direction. Both she and Judy had seen what just transpired.

“I think Kyle likes Taylor,” Denise said.

“I think,” Judy answered, “the feeling’s mutual.”

On the second pitch, Taylor smashed the ball into right field-he batted left-handed-and took off at a full clip toward first base while two others in scoring position made their way around the bags. The ball hit the ground and bounced three times before the fielder could reach it, and he was off balance when he threw the ball. Taylor rounded second, charging hard, considering whether to try for home. But his better judgment won out in the end, and the ball reached the infield just as Taylor arrived safely at third. Two runs had scored, the game was tied, and Taylor scored when the next person batted. On his way to the dugout, he handed Kyle the airplane, a big grin on his face.

“I told you it would make me lucky, little man. That’s a good airplane.”

“Yes, the airplane is good.” (Yes, ee owpwane ess goo)

It would have been the perfect way to end the game, but alas, it wasn’t meant to be. In the bottom of the seventh, the Enforcers scored the winning run when Carl Huddle knocked one out of the park.

After the game was over, Denise and Judy made their way down from the bleachers with the rest of the crowd, ready to head over to the park where food and beer were waiting. Judy pointed out where they’d be sitting.

“I’m already late,” Judy explained. “I was supposed to be helping set up. Can I meet you over there?”

“Go ahead-I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. I have to get Kyle first.”

Kyle was still standing near the fence, watching Taylor gather his gear in the dugout, when Denise approached him. He didn’t turn, even after Denise had called his name, and she had to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Kyle, c’mon, let’s go,” Denise said.

“No,” he answered with a shake of his head.

“The game’s over.”

Kyle looked up at her, a concerned expression on his face.

“No, he’s not.” (No, eez not)

“Kyle, would you rather go play?”

“He’s not,” he said again, frowning now, his tone dropping an octave. Denise knew exactly what that meant-it was one of the ways he showed frustration at his inability to communicate. It was also the first step toward what often led to a genuine, knock-down, drag-out screamfest. And boy oh boy, could Kyle scream.

Of course, all children threw tantrums now and then, and Denise didn’t expect Kyle to be perfect. But for Kyle, tantrums sometimes arose because he couldn’t get his point across well enough to be understood. He’d get mad at Denise for not understanding, Denise would get angry because he couldn’t say what he meant, and the whole thing would spiral downward from there.

Even worse, though, were the feelings that those incidents triggered. Whenever it happened, it always reminded Denise point-blank that her son still had a serious problem, and despite the fact she knew it wasn’t his fault, despite the fact she knew it was wrong, if the tantrum went on long enough, she sometimes found herself screaming at her son in the same irrational way he was screaming at her. How hard is it to just run a few simple words together? Why can’t you do that? Why can’t you be like every other kid? Why can’t you be normal, for God’s sake?

Afterward, once things had calmed down, she’d feel terrible. How on earth, if she loved him so much, could she say those things to him? How could she even think them? Never able to sleep afterward, she would stare at the ceiling for hours, honestly believing herself to be the most mean-spirited mother on the planet.

More than anything, she didn’t want to have that happen here. She steadied herself, vowing not to raise her voice.

Okay, start with what you know . . . take your time . . . he’s trying his best . . .

“He’s not,” Denise said, repeating after Kyle.

“Yes.”

She held his arm gently, in anticipation of what would come. She wanted to keep his attention focused.