Home Run: A Novel Read Free Page B

wasn’t a simple and easy process. Several of their friends had tried to no avail. But God had opened the doors, and through it had walked this ten-year-old bolt of energy.
    Nothing is wrong, Carlos. I just still can’t believe you’re my son.
    Clay had taken the ball back and joked, “Yep. Cory’s a pretty big deal.”
    But inside all he could think was that Carlos was the big deal. And he hoped—he hoped and prayed—that Cory would get over himself for just a short while and realize the same thing.
    Now, as most of the players were already out on the field but Cory was nowhere to be seen, Clay began to worry. The commotion of getting all the Bulldogs and their fathers off the field and into their seats was an accomplishment in itself. Clay had kept stalling, hoping his brother would come out and say hello to everybody. He understood that Cory was about to play a really big home game, but he still had hoped …
    No, I don’t get it. Cory should’ve gotten his butt onto the field when we were all down there.
    The look on Karen’s face had said it all. It was the same look she gave him every time he mentioned his brother.
    Now the typical look of cynicism was accompanied by concern.
    “Do you think Cory will remember that’s Carlos down there?” Karen asked.
    Clay glanced out to the field, where Carlos was talking Jesse Rogers’s ears off. The all-star pitcher didn’t seem to mind.
    “I have no idea.”
    “Or who Carlos is?”
    Clay only shrugged.
    I should’ve made 100 percent sure that Cory got my messages.
    But who didn’t get three voice mails and four emails? Clay couldn’t count how many times in the past he’d talked to Cory and his brother had said, “Yeah, yeah, got your messages.” But this wasn’t a simple Happy Birthday or Merry Christmas or We’re all thinking about you today . Telling Cory about Carlos was a lot more than that.
    He’s gotta know we’re all here. He’s just busy.
    Karen laughed and nudged his arm. “Oh my gosh. Look at him.”
    Carlos was now flanked by members of the Grizzlies team. They seemed to know who he was, because they were treating him special, letting him chatter and ask questions as he pointed to their shoes and gloves.
    “What happens if Cory doesn’t know?” Karen asked.
    “It doesn’t matter,” Clay said, no longer thinking about his brother. “We still get to take Carlos home.”
    If Cory doesn’t know, then he’s going to miss out on the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
    “You know,” Karen said in a voice that always reassured him, “he looks pretty good on that field.”
    Clay sighed. “Yeah. Well, judging by his uncle’s example, I’m sorta hoping he becomes a dentist.”

Cory looks at the pitcher and smiles before stepping up to the plate. He doesn’t do it to taunt or to tease. He just can’t help himself. He wants to come up to this plate ten more times and swing away each time just like the one before. He knows now what it feels like—what the motion and the swing and the sound all feel like—and he doesn’t want those feelings to go away.
    The pitcher is tall, probably twelve years old like Cory, but he’s got fear dumped all over him. The poor guy just wants to go home. He probably thought he was pretty hot stuff, whipping the ball like that and striking out all the other kids. But Cory knows now he’s not like the other kids.
    This is his fourth time at bat. The last three times resulted in three home runs. The last one got the entire crowd cheering like it was some championship or something. People even cheered his name. He hears Clay’s voice above the others. His little brother never misses a game.
    Cory still doesn’t have any kind of routine for getting ready to hit. At home, the balls have always come fast and furious. At home, he’s had to swing in order not to be hit. There’s never been time for a routine.
    The first pitch is way outside. The pitcher doesn’t want another bomb over the back fence.