I sat on the third row of the aluminum bleachers, watching our son warm up in the outfield.

The metal bench was cold through my jeans.

Gravel crunched behind me.

I turned around to see Walt climbing the bleacher steps.

He wore his heavy tan canvas jacket, the same one he always wore to the co-op.

He held two bright red sports drinks in his left hand.

He walked down to the chain-link fence near the dugout.

Our son trotted over from the on-deck circle.