Three weeks later, at seven in the morning, I stood at the kitchen island pouring pancake batter onto the hot electric griddle.

The ceramic tile felt warm under my boots.

The smell of melting butter filled the kitchen.

Cody ran in wearing his blue baseball jersey.

He clutched his leather baseball glove in his left hand.

“Coach says I can pitch the third inning Saturday,” Cody said.

The words came tumbling out, fast and excited.

He knocked his sneakers against the bottom of the wooden stool.