the cinder-block dugouts freshly painted brown and white, courtesy of Browne Land Management. Multicolored plastic banners touting other corporate sponsors were tied to the PVC fencing, advertising Westtown Xpress Lube, Devon Family Practice, and Coca-Cola Bottling of Chester County.
The air was balmy, and everyone agreed they couldn’t have asked for a nicer night for the quarterfinals of the Chesco Girls’ Softball League. The Browne Batters were leading West Caln Chiropractic 9–8 in the seventh inning, with David’s nine-year-old twin sisters, Jessica and Jennifer, playing first and second bases. The spectators cheered noisily and beat their feet, but David kept his head down, immersed in his thick paperback. It was 1,079 pages long with 388 footnotes, and he still didn’t understand it completely, which was what he loved about it. He’d never read a book that was essentially a huge puzzle, with so much to hold his attention that he was able to screen out the noise around him.
“Way to go, Browne!” his father cheered, sitting to David’s right. He’d come from work so he was still in his gray suit, with his tie loosened and his attention focused on the field. His father kept raking back his thinning hair with his fingers, making it greasy, and his fleshy features set in a scowl behind his prescription sunglasses. His father yelled almost constantly at the games, mostly encouragement except for the occasional honey, look alive out there! David’s mother was helping the team in the dugout, distributing bottled water and orange slices.
“Go get it, Jessica! You got this, Jennifer!” David’s brother, Jason, sat to his left, making a point of cheering for the twins separately. The twins were identical, so the only time most people could tell them apart was on the softball field, when they had their numbers on their shirts.
Jason nudged David. “Cheer for Jessica. She made a good catch.”
David shouted, “Way to go, Jessica!”
His father turned to David. “So how was camp today?”
“Good.” David didn’t return to his book, since his father took it as a criticism when David read. It was why David would never tell him that he wanted to be a writer someday, as opposed to being the next Pete Sampras.
“Did you practice your overhead?” His father pressed his lips together unhappily.
“Yes.”
“Hitting any better?”
“I will in time.”
“You have to commit early. Make the decision early.” His father frowned deeply, and David had learned not to talk back when his father gave tennis advice, even though his father never played the game. Suddenly his father leaned over, so close that David could smell the onions on his breath, from lunch. “Anything you want to tell me?”
“No, what do you mean?” David’s mouth went dry, thinking about the gun. He had no idea how his father could’ve known. He thought of that line from his book, My chest bumps like a dryer with shoes in it.
“I heard you left camp early today.” His father glowered. “Why are you hiding that from me?”
“I’m not.” David wished he could tell his father about the gun, but no. Never.
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I forgot, it didn’t matter.”
“So did you miss practicing your overhead?”
“No, I practiced at our courts.”
“You can’t practice your overhead on a backboard.”
David knew his father’s eyes would be narrowing behind his thick sunglasses, sensing that David was lying but wrong about the reason. David tried to think of an answer. “I found somebody else to hit with. Mr. Forman was there with another guy, and they let me hit around.”
His father glanced away. “Why’d you leave camp early? I heard you and Julian both cut out.”
“Right, we did.” David realized his father must have called the camp director to check his progress, something he did from time to time. Vince had had a dentist appointment, leaving the assistant in charge, which was why Julian had picked today to show David the gun.
“What for?”
David thought fast. “Julian didn’t feel good. He said his stomach hurt and he felt woozy.”
“What does that have to do with you?”
“He wanted to go home and he was going to ride his bike.” David knew these weren’t questions but criticisms, like many of the questions his father asked him, they came in disguise. “He keeps it at camp. On the weekends he goes to his father’s and rides it home.”
“So?”
David saw Jason opening his mouth, looking like he was going to interrupt but he didn’t. A good decision. David felt a rush of affection for Jason, who picked up for him against their father,