base. Tracy could see why Leif was convinced that Mark would play for the Red Sox
some day. Patrolling left field, he made some spectacular catches, and his teammates
looked to him for leadership. For a boy who was so quiet and shy off the field, he exuded
skill and confidence on the diamond.
They groaned like a Greek chorus as Mark took a called strike. Better have your eyes
checked, Ump, complained one partisan fan.
The next two pitches were balls. The tension mounted. The count reached three balls and
two strikes. Tracy realized she was clutching Leif’s arm. She pried her fingers loose as
the pitcher went into his wind-up.
Thwack. Mark’s swing sent the ball into orbit, soaring over the heads of the outfielders
and the chain link fence at the end of the playground. The two runners dashed toward home
plate while Mark trotted easily around the bases. The Spark Plugs were up six to four and
the team whooped with joy.
Way to go, Mark! Tracy was jumping up and down. You’re the best! Her voice rang out over
all the commotion.
People turned their heads to stare at her. Blushing, she forced herself to sit down and
close her mouth. Leif smothered a smile, pretending he had no idea who she was.
The next batter tried to outdo Mark. He took a wild swing at the first pitch. The ball
popped high in the air and then plummeted down toward the bleachers.
Determined to catch the foul ball, Luke scrambled to his feet and climbed up onto his
seat. With all his attention focused on the ball, he edged further and further along the
bench.
Tracy leaped to her feet. Luke, watch out, she shouted. You’re getting too close to the
end.
But her warning came too late. Blindly, with arms outstretched, Luke cartwheeled over the
railing at the end of the bleachers.
Luke! Leif yelled. Jumping over two rows of seats at a time, he hit the ground before
Tracy reacted. Please, Lord, she gasped, scrambling after Leif, squeezing through the
crowd.
Her heart came to a stop as she rounded the corner. Luke lay on his back, stunned and
silent. Blood gushed from a deep gash on his arm. His eyes were open, but he stared off
into space.
Leif kneeled at Luke’s side and pressed a handkerchief against the wound. But it did
nothing to staunch the bleeding. An anxious crowd gathered around them.
Tracy. Leif’s voice was taut. Come with me. Dr. Wilson is out of town. I’ll have to take
Luke to the emergency room in Plymouth. Ellie, he shouted to his neighbor, take care of
Mark.
Leif swept Luke up in his arms and raced toward the SUV. Tracy ran after them. She leaped
into the passenger seat as Leif opened the door. He thrust Luke into her arms. Keep
pressure on the wound, he urged.
The handkerchief was already drenched with blood. Leif paused long enough to throw her a
clean towel from the back of the truck. He slapped the bubble light onto the roof and they
roared out onto the road with lights flashing.
Luke lay limp and lifeless in her arms. Luke, are you all right? she whispered. Talk to
me. If only he would say something – make a sound.
He looked up at her with saucer eyes. With his face chalk white, he bit his lip trying to
be brave, while his tears soaked into her shirt.
It’s OK honey. It’ll be OK. She cuddled him closer to her heart, whispering a prayer as
she put as much pressure as she dared on his arm.
Hang on, big fellow. Leif encouraged. We’ll be there in a few minutes.
Luke finally gave in to his fears. Do I gotta get a shot? he sobbed.
Tracy pressed a kiss against his forehead. She didn’t want to tell him a lie. The doctor
will fix you up good as new.
The eight miles to Jordan Hospital in Plymouth seemed like eighty. Her pulse raced faster
than the truck as they barreled down Route 44. Luckily there weren’t many cars on the
road.
How much blood had the little guy lost? Was the flow slowing at all? Tracy clutched Luke