Lost Boy by Tim Green Page B

mirror.
    â€œThe best.” Doyle looked around and did a U-turn.
    â€œHe’s not too happy about all this, though,” Ryder said.
    â€œDerek’s just cautious. That’s why he and I are a good team.”
    â€œI hope you won’t get into trouble.” Ryder meant that.
    â€œTrouble’s my middle name.” Doyle sped up to make a light. “So, you gonna tell me what the heck you were doing at Yankee Stadium with a bunch of thugs?”
    Ryder’s stomach clenched. He’d almost forgotten about how he and Mr. Starr had kept all that from Doyle.
    He hung his head. “Mr. Starr found my dad.”
    â€œOh, right.” Doyle laughed, but not in a funny way. “Kid, don’t even dream about your dad being a Yankee. That Starr is pulling your leg. He’s a mean cuss if he told you that. It’s a pipe dream and he shouldn’t have led you on. There’s no Jimmy Trent on the Yankees.”
    â€œHe’s not a Yankee.” Ryder shook his head.
    â€œOh.” Doyle looked over. “Good. What, then? Ticket-taker?”
    â€œHe’s a Brave. An Atlanta Brave. They played the Yankees in an interleague game.”
    â€œRyder, the Braves’ pitcher is Thomas Trent , not Jimmy Trent. I’m sure that cranky old fart just googled the name ‘Trent’ and ‘MLB’ and came up with him. And then he sent you to that stadium ?” Doyle ground his teeth. “I don’t care if he is in a wheelchair. I’m gonna give that Starr a shake-up.”
    Ryder shook his head and pulled the baseball from his coat pocket. “No, he is my dad, Doyle. He met my mom in Auburn, where she was from. He played for the Doubledays, it’s a minor league team. That’s where he signed this ball for her. Everyone called him Jimmy, but his name is Thomas James Trent. I saw him at the stadium. I looked right at him across the parking lot . . . and he smiled.”
    Doyle bit his lip. “Well . . . it’s possible, but you can’t be certain .”
    Ryder frowned and turned away.
    â€œHey, don’t shut me out like that. I’m not the enemy. I just don’t want you to be crushed if this doesn’t work out. We’re making a lot of assumptions here.”
    Doyle parked the truck in a garage and they crossed the street to the hospital.
    Every step closer they got to his mom’s room seemed to add a weight to Ryder’s heart. When Doyle asked at the desk if they could go into her room, the nurse gave him a serious look and said she’d have to see.
    When she disappeared, Doyle nodded his head towardthe hallway, silently motioning for Ryder to follow. “You wait around for these medical people and they give you a bunch of rules. Come on. You can see your mom.”
    The room had a big glass window looking out into the hall, but the glare from the lights didn’t allow them to see her well, only the shape of a person in a raised bed. When Doyle put his hand on the door and swung it open, Ryder’s knees nearly buckled.
    He had no idea what they’d find.

The sight of the tubes that snaked up into his mother’s nose brought tears to Ryder’s eyes. He just knew that couldn’t be good. The machines beside her bed played their beeping and whirring tunes, blinking red and green in time to the noise. The crease in the sheet folded down below her shoulders rested perfectly, suggesting no movement at all. Her tan skin had a hint of green.
    He choked. “Mom?”
    She didn’t move.
    He crept close as Doyle circled the bed, frowning. He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. The tubes hissed like deadly snakes.
    â€œMom?” He looked at Doyle, his face rumpling.
    Doyle pointed at a small black screen lit by green squiggles of light that followed the path of a bright dot, skittering likea water bug up and down and across the screen. “That’s her