time to see Jack pecking Claire on the cheek and then shaking Oliver’s hand. Oliver looked up into Jack’s eyes.
“Now, that’s a handshake, son!” Jack exclaimed.
Oliver busted out a grin that nearly brought Whitaker to his knees. Every time his father had pushed him to the edge, Jack would break from his hardened veteran shell and stun the world with the love that was so evidently still alive in his heart.
It’s funny to think how we process experiences differently, Claire pondered, watching Oliver’s reaction when he saw the seats, which were six rows behind the plate.
“Are you kidding me!” he yelled, spinning his head around, taking in the bright lights and loud music, then putting his eyes on the field.
When he sat down between Claire and Jack, he said, “This is the greatest day of my life. Thank you, Jack. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. As long as your Yankees lose, I’ll bring you back.” Jack hit him on the leg.
Oliver smiled and returned his eyes to the action.
When the Yankees took the field, Oliver stood, put his pointer finger and thumb against his mouth, and blew out a loud whistle. Bursting with energy, he pointed at each player, calling them out by name, throwing out stats too. Claire, Whitaker, and Oliver had watched at least five games together on TV recently, and Claire had learned more about baseball in the last month than she’d known in her entire life of being a fair-weather Cubs and Rays fan.
They ate popcorn and peanuts, watched the players warm up, and listened with joy as Oliver continued to spit out numbers like a statistician, teaching them all a thing or two. A cameraman working his way down the steps stopped to take a picture of the five of them. Jack paid forty bucks for a package of various-size copies.
Once batting practice was finished, as Oliver was chomping at the bit for the game to begin, Jack tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Oli, come with me. I want to show you something. We’ll be right back.”
Oliver looked at him in surprise, and Claire thought he might turn him down. The game was about to start! But no one turned Jack Grant down. Especially when he’d bought the tickets.
Oliver and Jack ascended the steps and disappeared.
“What’s that all about?” Claire asked Sadie.
“I have no idea. You know Jack. Probably wants to show him the water tank with the stingrays.”
Sadie looked back and forth between Claire and Whitaker. “I like you two together.”
Claire wrapped an arm around Whitaker’s neck. “Me too.”
“I think I’m bringing up the rear,” Whitaker said, cracking a peanut shell. “But I guess someone has to. It’s a shame I inherited my father’s looks and not yours, Mom.”
A vendor in the aisle yelled, “Ice-cold beer!”
“I think you and your father are the most handsome men in this stadium.”
“I agree,” Claire said, smiling with Sadie.
A few minutes later, while Sadie poked around on her phone, Claire said to Whitaker, “What a great day, huh? I’m not sure anything makes me happier than seeing him smile.”
Whitaker leaned over and kissed her with peanut breath. “I’m right there with you.”
The three of them stood to let a couple in blue wigs and Rays uniforms pass by with nachos and sodas. The smell of the pickled jalapeños rose up into the air, and Claire was tempted to snag a chip. When was the last time she’d had ballpark nachos? Maybe years. The two die-hard fans squeezed in next to Whitaker, and he made small talk with them.
Just as Claire opened her mouth to ask where Jack and Oliver were, she saw them on the field near the dugout. She hit Whitaker on the leg and pointed. “What are they doing down there?”
Whitaker was shaking his head in wide-eyed surprise.
The vendor was coming back up the steps yelling, “Ice-cold beer!”
Claire looked closer and saw a glove on Oliver’s hand.
The announcer cut through the noise of the crowd, saying, “Welcome to Tropicana Field!” His voice echoed throughout the stadium. “We’d like to start off today’s game with the ceremonial first pitch!” More echoes.
Putting it all together, Claire looked at Sadie. “Did you know about this?”
Sadie shook her head.
Claire grabbed Whitaker’s shorts.
The announcer continued, “Today’s ceremonial first pitch will be thrown by a young man representing the David Kite Foundation, a nonprofit working to change the lives of foster children in Pinellas and Pasco Counties.”
Claire couldn’t believe her ears.
“Please welcome Oliver Hastings to the mound.”
Claire stood