badge, was about the same size as Jamie, medium height and stocky build. Judging by the crow’s feet around his eyes and the dark curly hair graying at his temples, Sam guessed him to be in his midforties.
She accepted his callused hand, a workingman’s hand. “Sam Sweeney. Nice to meet you.”
“Jamie was telling me about his recent trip to Turner Field.”
Sam followed the officer’s eyes to the television. “Aha. The Atlanta Braves. Jamie’s uncle was good enough to invite him along when he took his boys to Atlanta last summer,” she said, reminded of Bill’s more generous qualities. “But did Jamie also tell you his true devotion lies with the Red Sox?”
Eli smiled. “He may have mentioned that.”
Sam ignored her son’s glare. “I bet Jamie didn’t tell you he’s been offered a scholarship to play shortstop for USC.”
Eli’s gray eyes grew wide. “Wow! The Gamecocks are huge. Congratulations.”
“That’s all in the past, Mom. The sooner you realize that, the better.”
“Baseball is your future, Jamie. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you’ll get out of that wheelchair.”
Eli placed a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “I don’t know what your situation is, buddy, but never give up on your dreams no matter how many bumps in the road you encounter. Trust what you feel in your heart and everything else will work out.”
“That’s the problem,” Jamie said under his breath. “I don’t feel anything in my heart anymore.” He spun his chair around, and wheeled toward the door.
Sam watched him go, and then turned to Eli. “I apologize for my son’s rudeness. He’s really not himself these days.”
Eli held up his hand. “No apology necessary. He’s a good kid with a lot on his mind.”
Sam shook the officer’s hand again before following Jamie to the parking lot. When she caught up with him, Jamie was struggling to hoist himself up into the Wrangler. Refusing her help, he managed to lift his body onto the passenger seat. She folded the wheelchair and stowed it away on the special rack she’d had installed on the back of the Jeep.
“You were pretty rude to that policeman,” she said, climbing into her seat. “I know you’re hurting, but you have to at least try. Having a positive attitude is the most important thing toward your recovery.”
He rolled his eyes. “Can we please not start this again?”
Sam knew she sounded like a nag, but she had no idea how else to reach her son. She held three fingers up Boy Scout-style. “I promise. No negative talk tonight. We have a party to go to.” She started the car and weaved her way out of the parking lot.
She thought about the long night ahead of her, of being forced to watch Bill make nice to her sister for the sake of the party. She would have to be careful not to let the secret slip to her sister and her mother. If only she had her son back to confide in. Sam missed their camaraderie, but mostly, she missed his humor. The old Jamie had always taken a light-hearted approach to life’s difficulties. But there’s nothing funny about being confined to a wheelchair. And no place for humor when you are mourning the loss of your best friend.
“Did you get a chance to enjoy the nice weather today?” Sam asked.
His eyebrows shot up. “Since when is hundred-degree heat nice weather? I took your suggestion and wheeled my way over for my appointment this afternoon. I was dripping with sweat when I got there.” He lifted his arm and smelled his armpit. “I smell like shit.”
“Come on, Jamie. It couldn’t have been that bad. The hospital is only five blocks from our house, downhill all the way.”
“I’d like to see you try it.”
Sam waited for the traffic to clear before turning right onto Main Street. “I’m sorry, honey. I wanted you to see that you can still have some independence. Prospect is a small town. You can wheel yourself over to a friend’s house who can drive you places. My schedule is going to be