Page 89 of The Best Shot

I didn’t change it.

We drove.

The neighborhood gave way to the expressway, then the long stretch of highway.

Then CeeCee, quieter, “He truly thought you were the reason I wasn’t going back to him.”

“You’ll find that most things that have gone wrong in Shaun’s life could be traced back to me.”

CeeCee looked over. “You know that’s not true.”

I kept my eyes on the road.

Her hand moved to her stomach and stayed there.

I thought about what it had cost her to say that word in that living room.

Divorce.

Seven months pregnant, on her mother-in-law’s couch, with her hands folded and her voice steady. The courage of saying something quietly that would echo for a long time.

Neither of us said anything else.

The house was long behind us.

We didn’t look back.

26

“WHO TAUGHT YOU HOW TO PLAY ANYWAY?”

HALE

Harry took my bishop, easy.

Just reached over and slid it off the board like he was clearing crumbs from a table.

“Your move,” he said.

I leaned back, trying to figure out where the hell I’d slipped. I thought I had his habits locked down, but apparently not.

“Damn.”

It was quiet for a Tuesday. Leaves shifted overhead. A dog dragged its owner across the grass, and some kid bounced a basketball on the far side of the path, the hollow rhythm carrying farther than it should.

Harry had been at this same table every Tuesday and Saturday for years, his caretaker a few tables over, close enough to help him up when the game was done and far enough away not to interfere. The first time I’d seen him here, he’d finished a game with a guy who walked off muttering, and Harry just looked up at me and said, “You play?”

Now he beat me more often than not. I didn’t mind. These afternoons were simple. Show up. Sit down. Pay attention.

I picked up my knight, turned it once between my fingers.

“You’re stalling,” Harry said.

“I’m thinking.”

“Who taught you how to play anyway?”

“Dad did. Give me a second.”