I glanced at Chris.
He looked just as confused as I was.
“All three of you,” the announcer said, “please turn around and look behind you.”
Everyone around us began twisting in their seats.
Ethan grabbed my hand.
“What is it, Mom?”
“I don’t know, Captain.”
We turned.
A man was walking down the stadium steps.
Chris stared.
The color drained from his face.
“Leo?”
Behind Leo came Ray from the hospital, carrying Ethan’s battered plastic tabletop football game beneath one arm.
A nurse from Ethan’s floor followed with Cody and his mother.
Ethan’s mouth dropped open.
“No way.”
I watched him. Whatever he’d imagined when the announcer told us to turn around, it clearly wasn’t this.
Then Ray raised the battered tabletop game, and Ethan started laughing.
Three months earlier, football had still been something ordinary in our house.
Sunday afternoons meant Chris yelling at the television, Ethan correcting him, and me pretending I didn’t care while complaining louder than both of them whenever I thought a referee had missed something.
