Hamilton’s first full season in the MLB ended four days ago. Although I’ve texted him daily, I haven’t heard from him. The students keep me on my toes while I am there, and I love every second of it, but I worry about him when I’m not at school. As I drive home today, I decide to call him tonight.
With no ballgames this week, Alma and I enjoy long walks each night after dinner with Liberty and McGee. On tonight’s walk we enjoy our neighbors’ fall and Halloween decorations. We wave as some work to rid their yards of the red, orange, and brown leaves. Luckily, we do not worry about leaves in Alma’s yard as the lawncare company takes care of them once a week. McGee is content with his long walk and Libby yawns as we return home.
While I watch Libby enjoy her bath time in the kitchen sink. I shoot a quick text to Hamilton.
Me: Can you talk?
While pregnant and the seven months since I’ve imagined ways to let Hamilton know about Liberty. I told myself I would tell him at the end of this season. Now that his season is over, I need to figure out when and how I plan to do it. I only have from now until February to carry this out. With Thanksgiving and Christmas in there the timeframe grows smaller still. Hamilton will spend time with his sister and mother in Athens for both holidays and he likes to report early to Mesa before spring training. I watch Libby in the sink still consumed by thoughts of Hamilton.
Noticing heavy eyes and pruned fingers, I lift my girl from the water and wrap her in a fluffy towel. While she sucks the water off her hand I dry her off before dressing her for bed. I carry her to Alma for goodnight kisses. Alma lays her book on a nearby table to hold Libby in her lap for a minute.
As I carry Liberty toward the nursery, I inform Alma I plan to write in my room and bid her good night. Once fast asleep in her crib, I head to my bedroom with monitor in hand. I place the monitor on the dresser by the door. It’s close enough I can see the red lights if she wakes up and far enough away it won’t be heard on my call. My little girl grows fast. I mean our little girl. Soon she will be crawling, pulling up, talking more, and walking. I’ve got to talk with Hamilton—he’s missing more with each passing week.
I select Hamilton’s name from my favorite contacts list and dial. It’s 8:15 p.m. I am not sure if he will answer. I can’t imagine why he hasn’t responded to my texts for four days. I nervously wait as it rings three times and I hear Hamilton’s deep voice on his voicemail message.
“Hi, just checking in. I figure you are busy with end of the season winding down. I hope you’re alright. Please shoot me a text when you can. Bye.” I try to sound light-hearted. I don’t want him to know how worried I am about him. I haven’t heard from him since the Cubs loss. I worry he’s being hard on himself. Is he depressed his season is over? It’s not like him to ignore my attempts to contact him. I don’t want him to know how much I miss his texts and calls.
When not with my daughter or working on lesson plans, I’ve begun writing again. Journaling or creating stories consumes my free time. As sleep often eludes me, I find several hours each night to place my pen to paper. After many hours pass while writing, I fall asleep with no text or call from Hamilton.