“You’re on a baseball team?” Clay asks. Jack nods, with his lips around the straw of his soda. “Yep! I play first base.” “No way!” Clay replies enthusiastically. “I used to play first base!” “Really?” “Yes.” “Do you want to come to my game? Mama, when is my next game?” Jack asks, tugging on my shirt. “Clay’s probably busy, buddy,” I reply. “I’m not busy,” he argues, winking at Jack. With a sigh, I glare at the man across from me. “His game is next Saturday at one.”
