Page 42 of Convincing the Catcher

All I can do is nod. Not take my phone out, not answer. Just … nod like a drone.

He holds his free hand out while his other one gives my hand a small squeeze. “If you give me your phone, I can look.”

Sluggishly, I take my cell out of my pocket and set it in his palm. Cane looks at the screen, tapping it a few times before he leads us toward a set of elevators. I move painfully slow, almost holding him back, but he doesn’t say anything.

Maybe I’m drawing it out and taking my time because in my heart, I know if my dad can somehow stay alive until I get a chance to say goodbye, he will.

So, the longer I take … the longer he’ll stay here. On earth.

I understand I’m not sitting beside him right now, but even still, I can feel he’s still here. I’m terrified for the moment when his soul leaves his body and he isn’t here anymore.

A world without my dad isn’t a world I can even fathom. I don’t think I ever will.

TWENTY

HARLEY

After I hugged my mom while shedding some tears, she and Cane went into the hallway so that I can talk to my dad alone. Shamefully, it’s been a while since I’ve been home, and right now, him lying in this bed … this isn’t a man I recognize. This is a sick, feeble person who has taken his body over.

My mom and the nurses said that despite the fact it’s been a rough few weeks for him, slipping more and more each day, he’s been restless for the past twenty-four hours, more so than usual. They said he only opens his eyes for a few seconds at a time, but he just seems not to be comfortable.

Though he doesn’t move a lot, it’s obvious that he’s restless right when I walk in just from the slight body movements. They may be barely there, but if he were comfortable, like really peaceful, he wouldn’t be doing that.

Moving the chair located next to his bed closer, I sit down. I look at his hand and then back to mine. I want to take his, but I’m also so scared that I’ll hurt him. Exhaling slowly, I gently lace our fingers.

“Hey, Dad.” I barely choke the words out, and instantly, my vision becomes blurry from the tears that I knew would fall once I got here. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited. Things have been … busy with ball and school.” I sniffle, my face crumpling. “But that’s no excuse because I should have been here sooner.”

It feels so weird to be here, saying goodbye to a man I’ve always seen as a real-life superhero. A man who is the strongest, smartest, best person I know. He’s carried so much on his shoulders to always put his family first.

He is the reason why I’m twenty years old and still playing the game I love so much.

“Our team is good, Dad. And I’m, uh … I’m catching for this pitcher, Gigi. She’s a freshman, but you’d never know it.” I look down at our hands, leaning my body slightly against the bed. “The other day, I got my fastest pop time. It was one-point-seven seconds, Dad. Can you even believe that?” I laugh, crying harder.

“Remember when we were just trying for three seconds? Or remember when I couldn’t even make the throw from home to second at all, and I was so discouraged, and I didn’t want to leave the field until I proved I could do it?” I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining him at the field that day, putting his hand on my shoulder and telling me it was all okay. “You took me for an ice cream and then brought me back.” I smile sadly. “And I finally made the throw. It wasn’t perfect, but I made it. I showed them.”

I remember that feeling when my ball finally hit the net Dad had set up at second base. I felt like, in that moment, I could do anything if I just worked hard enough. Nothing had been easy, and I knew that wasn’t going to change.

“You gave me a hug, and you told me …” I’m damn near hysterical now, and I cringe, wondering if this is making him worse, if he can hear me. “You told me people were going to tell me I couldn’t do things, but the only one who could decide for sure would be myself. And that … you knew I could do anything I wanted to do. The sky was the limit if I was always willing to work the way I did that day. You told me …” My voice cuts out. “You told me the work would take me where I wanted to go. It would force them—the nonbelievers—to see me.” My lip trembles. “And it did, Dad. I showed them.”

Using the sleeve of my hoodie, I wipe my eyes. “Thank you, Dad. For signing me up for T-ball. For driving me to practices and clinics.” I give his hand the softest squeeze. “For … never giving up on me.”

My chest burns, and my face is soaked with tears, my nose running now. But I don’t care. I don’t have the energy to care.

“I am who I am because of you.”

I look at him, and even though he’s sleeping, I know he’s still not at peace. I want to be selfish. I want to beg him to stay and to fight. But he’s dedicated his entire adult life to making my dreams come true. I know what I owe him right now.

He mouths some sort of sound. It’s not audible enough to understand, but I know he’s trying to talk. His body just won’t let him.

“It’s okay,” I whimper. “I promise, Dad … it’s okay.”

His eyes flutter, never actually opening.

“You can go now,” I whisper, the words coming out like a croak, barely audible. “I’m going to miss you, and I know that will never stop. But … you can go.” I sob. “You’ve fought hard. And you’ve earned this rest, Dad.”

A few seconds pass before his hand—ever so slightly and almost not at all—squeezes mine.

“You,” he breathes, and I’m not even sure that’s what the word is because it’s so incoherent, “showed … them …”