Page 157 of The Fall Classic

“Georgie, is that right?” Jane asks gently, like she’s giving me an out.

I don’t answer right away. I’m too busy noticing the shift in how Marlowe’s holding me, how her arm feels like a hook now, how her questions morphed from how’s my daughter to what am I about to lose?

When someone opens the door to the shop and a cold gust of wind sweeps through, Marlowe’s warmth wafts away toward Jane and Kayla—the people she wants to impress.

I look up from them to the reflection of the TV in the window, where I see a backward 49 stepping onto the mound.

I whip around, breaking Marlowe’s hold on me. “Logan’s pitching already?”

“Yeah,” my dad says, folding his arms to watch the game. “Top of the fifth? That’s early to bring in a reliever.”

“Lucas got hit by a ball,” I say. Dad’s probably only watching because he has some big client who’s a baseball fan, but he’s still my dad.

And this is still my boyfriend.

I look over my shoulder to Kayla and Jane. “Sorry I’m so distracted. Maybe we could pick this up again⁠—”

“Pick what up again?” Marlowe’s asking, talking between my head and my dad’s. Dad holds up a hand to her.

Kayla and Jane stand up on my other side.

Logan’s first pitch has its usual bizarre movement on it, but it drops low and away. Ball one.

“He looks so upset,” I whisper to myself, watching his body language. His shoulders are too tense, practically up around his ears.

“Lucas looked off, too,” Kayla says quietly. “They both must be worried about Coop. Of course, Logan’s default is to worry about everything. The fact that we don’t know the extent of Coop’s concussion is the worst thing for him. Add in Lucas getting hit, even if it was minor, and Logan must be like a live wire up there.”

“But I thought he was making so much improvement with the tank and the brainspotting,” I say. If anyone knows about Logan’s sessions with Dr. Chang, it’s Kayla.

“He’s been doing much better, but uncertainty makes his anxiety spiral. It may not just be about Coop, though. Doug called me yesterday. He’s been worried about him all week.”

Her words drop on me like an anvil at the same time that Logan’s next ball drops into the dirt three feet in front of Rojas.

I audibly gulp. “So, if someone was holding back information because she thought it would help him focus⁠—”

Kayla’s eyes widen only a fraction, but it may as well be pure shock on her face. “That would do it.”

I slump. “I’m such an idiot.”

“What did you do?” Marlowe asks, not as sharp as usual, but sharp enough. “Is this about the trucks? The shop?”

A muscle in Kayla’s jaw ticks. Jane steps back from where she’s standing next to Kayla and says, “Marlowe, forgive my lack of manners. What is it you do for Meant to Bean?”

On the TV, Logan throws another ball. It’s even worse than before.

Marlowe gives a sparkling laugh. “I run it.”

“She runs the books,” Dad answers at the same time as Marlowe, glancing over his shoulder. He’s totally oblivious to how red her face is getting. “It was a bit of a mess after my first wife died. We had to take a loan out against the shop for her medical expenses. And then for Georgie’s dental expenses, right, kid?” he asks, nudging me with his elbow while still watching the game. “But it turns out I married a great accountant.”

Logan walked the first batter and is two balls into the second when the guy swings and smacks the ball out of the park.

Home run.

A moment later, the skies seem to part, and a heavy rainfall descends on the game.

I watch Logan hang his head while the ump calls a rain delay and Logan’s teammates jog past him.

But Logan just stays there, looking miserable. Looking like his offering of branch and trunk has been rejected by everyone who matters.