“You sure this doesn’t make me look five?”
“You’ve owned it since you were eight.”
“Exactly.”
“It’s vintage now.”
He grinned.
The second we entered the stadium, his entire face lit up.
The noise rolled through the concrete corridors. Music was playing somewhere beneath the crowd. Vendors were shouting. People in team colors moved around us in waves.
Then we came through the tunnel toward the field.
Caleb stopped rolling.
“Mom.”
“What?”
He inhaled deeply.
“Mom, I can smell the grass!”
I laughed.
For that moment, every skipped meal felt worth it.
For the first time since the accident, I wasn’t watching Caleb adjust to a place that hadn’t been made for him.
The stadium had already made room.
Unfortunately, someone else was about to decide he shouldn’t have it.
Then we reached our section.
A man and woman were sitting in our seats.
