This was his first time and Jake was nervous. What if they just watched him, with no expression on their faces, would he be embarrassed and forget what he was there for? He had worked hard for this, and practiced, determined to succeed. His little boy was depending on him.

Seven-year-old Jamie was sick and getting sicker, and his dad couldn’t afford to take him to a doctor. So, tonight was Jake’s chance to correct that, to establish himself with this company and secure a position with the group.

However, about the same time Jake was to begin, his cell phone rang and Mrs Hornsby, their neighbor who had kindly agreed to stay with Jamie, said, frantically, “Jamie’s having a fit! He’s fallen out of his chair and hit his head, and I can’t lift him! Come home, quick!”

Jake was momentarily glued to the floor. He needed to stay; he needed to go. Suddenly he turned around and raced outside to Rusty, his trusty truck. Flooring it, he zoomed through yellow lights, swerving in front of cars, screeching around corners, as he pictured his son, writhing on the floor with no one who could help him.

Minutes later, he turned onto the long dirt road leading up to his cabin, arriving in an enveloping cloud of dust. Jumping out of the truck, he ran up the front porch steps. Mrs Hornsby had the door open and Jake stepped into the gloom. It took him a few seconds for his eyes to adjust and spot Jamie curled up in an awkward position on the floor. Jake quickly turned on a light and saw his son’s chalk skin, open mouth and jerking arms. And bleeding head.

Between the two of them, he and Mrs Hornsby struggled with a jerking Jamie and got him up on the seat. Jake climbed in and hollered over the engine, “Pay you tomorrow and thanks,” and roared off to the hospital. Keeping his eyes on the road, once he was back on pavement, he sang to Jaimie as he swerved and maneuvered around cars, eventually roaring up to the emergency room at the local hospital. He’d called ahead and orderlies raced out the entrance. Jake opened his passenger door and looked in at Jamie. He was perfectly still. The orderlies lifted him unto the stretcher, then seeing his open eyes, one of them felt for his pulse. Jake pushed himself next to Jamie and put his fingers on his neck, all the while whispering, “Come on, son, come on.” But he knew for sure when he looked over at the orderly who was shaking his head.

Jake lifted his lifeless son to his chest and held him, then followed them inside.

Later, he returned to the place he’d left in such a hurry. Jake, the clown drove his toy car into the arena, honking his horn as the tears ran down his face.

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