After dinner, Ray took Caleb out to the backyard with a brand new glove, Caleb’s size, and they threw the ball back and forth until it was too dark to see it. I watched from the kitchen window. Caleb was laughing. Missing every other throw. Laughing anyway.
Two weeks later, there was a department barbecue. They’d been inviting us every summer for three years. This time, I said yes.
I almost backed out at the last minute. I sat in the car in the parking lot of the park, looking at all the cops in shorts and T-shirts flipping burgers and chasing their kids, and my hands were shaking on the steering wheel.
Caleb looked at me from the passenger seat.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows. It was David’s exact expression. The one he used to make when he knew I was lying.
