#nohedidnt
I SCAN THE sidelines, warming when my gaze lands on Ryan’s broad shoulders. He’s wearing a gray polo and blue baseball hat tonight, talking into his headset.
It’s been a hell of a week, and just seeing Ryan grounds me. When Jack woke up at the hospital, he was still himself, which left me so relieved I went into the bathroom and cried for five minutes.
But in the days after that, Carmen and I realized that while the seizure didn’t give him long-term physical or mental damage, it absolutely did change him. He’s scared now, the memory of the seizure and its aftermath haunting him. After Carmen and a pediatrician told him what’s happening with the progression of his disease, the light went out of him.
This is what Carmen wanted to put off as long as possible. Jack knows he’s only going to get worse from here. His dream of playing with the neighborhood kids seems insignificant compared to his new dream of surviving.
We’ve got a system now. I’ve been working from home and taking care of Jack during the day, with the help of a home health nurse, while Carmen sleeps for a few hours. She seems to feel guilty every time she sleeps. She sits with Jack at night, reading to him and watching him sleep, keeping vigil in case he has another seizure.
Next week, we’re changing our routine. I hired a second nurse to monitor Jack overnight. I hope it will help Carmen sleep at night, so she can be with Jack during the day, with help from the other nurse.
We hadn’t been out of the house all week, and Jack wanted to come to Ryan’s game like we’d planned. Carmen immediately said yes, because Jack hasn’t asked for much since coming home from the hospital.
So here we are, bundled in blankets, dressed in blue, cheering on Ryan’s team. None of us knows a lot about football, but we know how to join in when the home team is cheering.
“I’m glad we came,” I say to Carmen over Jack’s head during a semiquiet moment.
“Me too.”
Jack is snuggled between us, sipping hot chocolate and watching the game intently. I’m trying to watch the game, but I keep finding myself distracted by Ryan. I like seeing him standing on the sidelines, watching and directing his players. The other team’s coach is waving his arms all over the place, yelling and looking like a heart attack about to happen. Ryan is cool, collected, and focused.
The game is tied 7–7 when one of Ryan’s players intercepts the ball. I’m cheering along with everyone else as he runs, when suddenly Jack jumps up off the bleachers.
He’s making a frustrated sound that’s not quite a word, over and over. Tears are streaming down his cheeks. Carmen and I both see the reason at the same time—he spilled the huge cup of hot chocolate all over his lap, and he’s soaking wet.
“It’s okay, baby,” Carmen says.
Jack wails louder—probably both frustrated that he dropped the cup and uncomfortable from the hot liquid on his skin.
“I shouldn’t have gotten you that big cup.” Carmen’s trying to soothe Jack, and people are turning to look at us now.
“Hey,” a woman in front of us says as she turns around. “Need a towel?”
I take it and give her a grateful look. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem.”
“I’m sorry if any of that got on you,” I tell her, unfolding the towel and using it to dry Jack’s clothes off a little.
She waves a hand. “I’m a mom. Stuff happens.” She gives Jack an encouraging smile. “You okay, buddy? I’ve got some juice boxes if you want one.”
People are still looking at us, and Jack gives Carmen a pained look. He’s embarrassed, of course.
“I think we should go,” Carmen murmurs.
“Sure.” I start packing stuff up, and we all stand up to exit the row of bleachers.
“Cup!” Jack cries, pointing at the abandoned Styrofoam cup on the ground.
“It’s empty, sweets,” Carmen says.
“Cup!”
I bend down to get the cup and hand it to him, then return the towel to the woman in front of us and thank her again. I’m shuffling along next to Jack when I hear a deep bellow from behind us.
“Hey, get that retarded kid out of here!”
For one full second, I go still with shock. Now everyone in our section is either looking at us or at the balding, scowling guy in a blue T-shirt who yelled.
Jack’s face is a deep shade of crimson, and so is Carmen’s. I know for sure it’s mortification on Jack’s part and red-hot anger on Carmen’s.
“You guys go,” I say to Carmen when we get to the end of the row. “I’ll meet you in the car.”
“Sienna, he’s not worth it.”
“Just go,” I say in a level tone.
My anger is of the white-hot variety. That asshole has no idea who he just crossed.
As Carmen takes Jack’s hand and leads him down the concrete stadium stairs, I walk up them until I get to the row where the bearded man with a huge mouth is sitting. He gapes at me as if to say, “What?”
“Pretty tough of you to mouth off to a six-year-old.” I hold his dark, beady-eyed gaze. “How about someone who’s not terminally ill and not afraid of you? You got anything to say to me?”
He laughs. Laughs, and my blood boils.
“Get the fuck out of here, Red. I’m tryin’ to watch the game.”
“He’s a person.” My voice rises with emotion. “And you’re an insensitive jerk.”
The woman next to him sneers, her eyes widening like I’m in for it now.
“Okay, bitch, you want problems? You got ’em now.”
The burly guy shuffles toward me, and all eyes are on us now. I refuse to move. If this fat lumberjack wants to fight me, I’m in. I don’t care if he kicks my ass. The look he put on Jack’s face has me ready to do battle.
Before the man can get to me, another man nearby stands up and blocks his path.
“Go sit down, Buck,” he says.
“Oh, it’s Buck, is it?” I lean around the man in front of me. “How fitting. Bet you’ve got more guns than teeth, am I right?”
The man turns around and gives me a wry smile. “Cool it, hotshot. Buck’s an asshole, but we’re in the middle of a high school football game.”
A uniformed security guard shows up then, taking me by the arm and hauling me down the stadium stairs. I return every dirty look I get from onlookers. What kind of people just stand by and let someone treat a kid that way? I would have stood up whether it was Jack or a kid I didn’t even know.
The game is in a time-out, and I find Ryan on the sidelines, gesturing at a clipboard and talking to several players. He looks up, sees me, and frowns.
Oh God. I didn’t mean to interrupt his coaching. He passes off the clipboard to another coach and starts coming toward me.
The security guard tightens his hold on my arm, probably enjoying the looks we’re getting as he drags me toward the stadium exit.
“Get your hands off her.” Ryan’s voice reaches us before he does.
The guard gives me a startled look, dropping his hand away.
“What are you doing?” Ryan demands, giving the guard a challenging look.
By his tone, it’s clear he’s pissed. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Ryan so angry.
“She was causing a scene, Coach,” the guard says apologetically.
Ryan looks at me, and I shrug unapologetically. “Some guy named Buck called Jack retarded.”
The guard gives me a sheepish look. “I should probably make Buck leave too.”
“You think?” Ryan’s tone is clipped. He turns to me. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Get back to your game. We can talk later.”
“I’ll deal with Buck after the game.”
My eyes widen with horror. “Ryan, don’t get yourself in trouble over this. This is your job.”
He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry about it. We’re not gonna tolerate that kind of behavior here.”
I sigh softly. “I’m leaving because Jack spilled hot chocolate on himself, and . . . well, I got kicked out, so . . . yeah, I’m leaving.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I can.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Love you.”
I give him a grateful look. “Go win your game.”
He smiles, then turns and jogs back to his team. And I realize that whether it’s been long enough or we’ve gotten to see enough of each other’s bad sides yet, I love him too. The same way he loves me—unequivocally.