Cradling the baby in her arms, she paused, and I thought she was going to bring it up—my past, the thing that had brought me here. But, instead, she said, “How’s everything going? Are you liking it?”
“Oh, yes. Cape Carolina is wonderful! I went on a boat tour on one of my days off, met some very nice people at a wine tasting…” I could feel myself lighting up. “And everyone at the hospital has been so kind to me too.”
She smiled. “And it’s not every day we have a Jane Doe. Talk about being thrown into the deep end!”
Maisy, I thought to myself as Sandy swished off.Her name is Maisy. Don’t call her Jane Doe.
Of course, as soon as she left here, Jane she would be again. And then, her new family would call her whatever they chose. I tried to feel happy for her.
Maisy had drifted off to sleep while I was talking, and I sat her up, leaning her forward, her chin in my hand, to try to simultaneously burp and wake her. I patted her back, and, after a few seconds, she released the sound I was looking for. “Maisy,” I whispered. “That was not ladylike!”
I smiled to myself and lay her back for the second half of her feeding, promising myself I’d be more vigilant about keeping her awake. I thumped the bottoms of her feet as she sucked and talked to her. “It’s very important for you to be extra hydrated right now,” I said, “so you can get healthy and strong, okay?”
When she finished, I changed her and, very reluctantly, put her back in the incubator, turning on the bili light. She slept contentedly, not a worry in the world, and I could tell she felt safe. Sometimes babies don’t, and you know it right away. It’s heartbreaking because wedo our best, but it’s not like you can reason with a three-day-old and explain to them why their mommy can’t be here right now. But not Maisy. Maisy was okay.
I touched her little cheek, then put her down to attend to another patient, reminding myself of the cardinal rule: Do not get overly involved with patients! They were all important to me; I cared for each like my own. But I knew I was becoming too attached to Maisy.
As I took the vitals of a day-old newborn, I reminded myself that this was why I had gone through all the classes and certification credentials I needed to become a foster parent. Sure, fostering your own patient was probably crossing the line of becoming too close. But I had been in positions before where I had to make a call to have a patient separated from a parent, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I knew that if that ever happened again, I would be prepared to step in and help.
But I hadn’t fostered yet. Knowing that I was about to move, how could I? Plus, I reasoned, I had to be available in case a medically fragile patient needed to be fostered. Those kids were the most difficult to place because so few people were qualified or willing to care for them.
Dr. Miller walked in and, gesturing at the baby I was holding, I said, “Max Jamison’s vitals look great.”
He smiled at me. “Amazing. Let’s check this big guy out.”
So, he was kind of cute. I glanced down at his left hand. Empty. I scolded myself.No doctors. No doctors. No doctors.For the first time in a few hours, I allowed my mind to wander to Mason, to our great night together. I didn’t keep my phone on me while I was working, but I was headed to the nurses’ station anyway, so I’d take a quick peek.
I picked up my phone, and my heart nearly burst when I saw a text from him:
So, I have a game at 6 if you’re off early enough and want to come see me in all my glory, sweating and yelling simultaneously. I know. I’m talented. Then maybe I could take you to a real dinner? Without fifteen of my family members?
I smiled. There was another text below that:
Just to be clear, I’m asking you on a date. And it would be a shame if you didn’t say yes—just to test your soulmate theory. Imagine if I’m wrong, you’re right, you’re the one, and I never even know it?
I laughed. He was good. Very, very good. I couldn’t imagine how many women before me had fallen for this very handsome and way-too-charming man. But I pushed that thought aside and responded:
You can sweat AND yell?I knew you were a catch, but whoa. I’ll look forward to seeing that. And the food after.
I put my phone down, ready to head back to the nursery, my stomach full of butterflies. I had a date with pitching legend Mason Thaysden tonight. Sometimes I could let the heaviness of my job get to me. But not today. Today, I was light and free and fun. And I had a date with a man who just might be the one. A girl really never did know.
MASONFifty-Fifty
When I was a kid, I would look at my baseball coach and think,This must be the easiest, most fun job in the world.Now, as I sat in my small office with the window overlooking the baseball field, I realized I was kind of right. I mean, working with high school kids can be hard, of course. And that first season, when we were losing, I was kind of a pariah around town, and hearing everyone’s snide remarks was annoying. But asjobsgo, it was pretty awesome. Baseball was the thing I loved the very most. And I got paid—I mean, let’s be real, not a lot, but I got paid—to do my favorite thing. And now, I was the one with the whistle running the guys through drills. I didn’t even have to do the running if I didn’t want to. I mean, I did, because being in good shape has always been important to me. Even when I was drinking every night and “working” for my dad and generally wallowing in my failure, I worked out every day. Maybe because it was a habit? Maybe just in case my shoulder did magically heal, and I got the chance to go pro again? I don’t know why. But, if I had to guess, I’d say the workouts were the things that kept me breathing when everything else was falling apart.
The bell rang, and I clapped my hands. I’d spent the day watching tape of our previous games against Central, making notes on theplayers who would be back from last year. I was okay at the other parts of the game, but I was agreatpitching coach. I was a pitcher. Without a ball even in my vicinity, I could feel the laces in my hand, the exact weight of a baseball, the size of it. I could picture exactly how to turn my wrist for each type of pitch, how to make it spin, how to make it straight and fast. Some of it was God-given talent, the kind that reporters and journalists and coaches used to talk about. You know,I’ve seen some great players in my day, but what Mason Thaysden has? That’s from God.But a lot of it was hours and hours of practice. A lot of it was having a dad who would throw with me endlessly in the backyard, a brother who, yeah, wasn’t that athletic but loved being on the receiving end of my practice pitches for as long as I would throw them.
Drew had that now. Both the work ethic part and the God-given part. It was a perfect alchemy that only struck every now and then. It made me happy to be alive, happier to have taken this coaching position when I did. I’d had three incredible years with him, to groom him, to train him. And now I was getting to be here for the fun part, watching him get recruited by colleges this season. If all went according to plan, he’d know where he was going to play before summer—and certainly before his senior year began. I had lived that part. It was awesome. And I was trying to use my gift for good.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’tthinkabout what else I could do. If Drew was leaving, maybe it was time for me to move on too.
As he walked into my office now, backpack heavy on his shoulders, I said, “Get yourself a wheeled suitcase, kid. You can’t risk messing up your back or shoulders with that thing.”
He laughed. I was always getting on him about something that could hurt him, derail him, blow his shot. I wouldn’t let that happen to the “next Mason Thaysden.”
I leaned back in the old desk chair. I could feel the springs in it as I did, heard it squeak. And I thought that maybe I should just get myself a new one. It would be a couple hundred bucks and would make me so much more comfortable. But, then again, there was something about it being just as it was… It was the memory of being the kid in Drew’s seat, of getting to hear from Coach Tucker about what I needed to do, that I didn’t want to change. This office and this school were the last vestiges of my greatness.
Still holding my pen, I nodded toward a piece of paper on the desk. “I made some notes for you for today. We can go over them if you want.”
