“Perfect timing!”
“Yes, right.” Jake had to put a stop to her talking to Dr. Dave, game or no game. It was too risky, especially today. “Honey, Dr. Dave found me.”
“Good. Did you talk to him?”
“Why did you tell him that Ryan and I had a fight?”
“He’s worried about Ryan.” Pam kept her eyes on the court, but leaned over and answered, to be heard over the crowd noise.
“Ryan’s sick, that’s all. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Dr. Dave thinks it’s more. He asked me if there was anything that happened recently that could have bothered him, and I told him about the big fight you guys had.”
“It wasn’t that big a fight.”
Pam scoffed, keeping her attention on the court. “You made him cry, Jake. He never cries. So it was a big fight.”
Jake couldn’t believe the irony. He was getting in trouble over a fight he didn’t even have. “Don’t you think that’s something that should be kept between us?”
“No, why?” Pam glanced over, puzzled, then turned back to the court. The Cardinals had been introduced, and the announcer was asking everyone to face the flag for the national anthem.
“It’s our business, not his.”
“Don’t be silly. It doesn’t matter if he knows. Parents fight with kids all the time.” Pam put her hand over her heart when the anthem started playing, and she began to sing loudly, in her characteristically pretty soprano.
“It matters to me.” Jake put his hand on his chest, sang the national anthem, and when everybody burst into applause, he leaned over to Pam. “Honey, do me a favor. Don’t encourage Dr. Dave’s snooping into our personal life.”
“He’s not snooping.” Pam looked at him like he was crazy, then faced the court, where the team captains, referees, and coaches were gathering at the center.
“These things aren’t any of his business.”
“He’s a friend of ours, a friend of our family’s.” Pam stopped clapping, and Jake could see he was getting her attention.
“Please, let’s keep the conversation with him to basketball, not our family life. We already had therapy. We don’t need more.”
Pam frowned. “What did you say to him?”
“I told him Ryan was fine and I could handle it.”
“What does that mean?”
“I told him to butt out.”
“You did?” Pam’s lips parted in dismay. “You said that? Jake, how could you? Why?”
“He’s telling me that Ryan gets tense when I come to games. That’s out of line.”
“Ryan wants your approval, you know that. He wants to play well when you come. He doesn’t need you to get him in bad with the coaches. God, they talk to the recruiters all the time. You want to queer it for him? What were you thinking?” Pam shook her head, missing the jump ball that started the game.
“Pam, I’m his father—” Jake noticed the Chasers’ moms sneaking a glance at them, so he kept his voice low. “And I don’t want you talking to any third party about something as personal as my relationship to my own son—”
“Oh, please.” Pam rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a control freak.”
“It’s our business, my business—”
“You’re just jealous, and you have absolutely no right to be. Nature abhors a vacuum, Jake, and Dr. Dave stepped in to fill a void that was created by you. He didn’t go looking for Ryan, Ryan went looking for him.” Pam’s fair skin flushed with resentment. “Now you’ve decided to step back in, and good for you, but don’t expect everything to be just the way you want it, right away. It takes time. You have to earn your way in.”
Jake regretted bringing up the subject here. Chasers’ and Cardinals’ families were eyeing them, even though the game was in full swing. “Pam, relax—”
“No. You can’t just snap your fingers and make people do what you say, or feel what you want them to feel. I hope you didn’t piss Dr. Dave off.” Pam craned her neck, scanning the sidelines of the court. “You should go see him right now and apologize. He usually sits in the front row behind the bench. Do you see him?”
“I have nothing to apologize for, Pam.”
“Then I will.” Pam pointed. “There he is, by Coach Marsh.”
“Pam, really?”
“Absolutely.” Pam rose and made her way down the row, then the stairs, toward the court.
Jake lost sight of her, then gave up. He felt eyes boring into his back, but he had bigger problems than being the subject of gossip. He had Lewis Deaner on the brain. He didn’t know who the man was and if he knew something or was bluffing. Jake felt his gut clench and tried to get into the basketball game. The lighted scoreboard read Home 10, Away 4. The Chasers were behind. There were nine minutes left in the first quarter, so there was plenty of time to catch up. Ryan stole the ball and dribbled it down the court, his hair flying.
“Go, Ryan,” Jake shouted, making a megaphone of his hands.
“Ryan, Ryan, Ryan!” chanted the Chasers’ student section.
“Shoot, Ryan! Shoot!” called a Chasers’ mom in back.
“DEFENSE!” bellowed one of the Cardinals’ dads.
Ryan stopped with the ball, his sneakers squealing, faced the basket, and took a jumper from the outside, like he had in the driveway this morning. The crowd shrieked as the ball hit the transparent backboard, bounced onto the rim, and dropped outside the hoop, missing the basket. Ryan seemed to stall, as if rooted to the shiny wooden floor.
“Follow your shot, Ryan!” somebody shouted in back.
And Jake’s heart sank, because he knew what he was seeing.
He’s off.
Chapter Nineteen
Pam drove home because they’d taken her car, and Jake rode in the passenger seat, in suburban exile. They’d barely spoken for the remainder of the game, and he didn’t know if she’d talked to Dr. Dave, though he assumed she had because she’d been on the warpath. Jake’s thoughts kept circling to Lewis Deaner, and he’d spent the rest of the game looking for him in the crowd. He’d even checked the parking lot after the game let out, but no luck.
Pam braked when they came to a red light and glanced in the rearview mirror at Ryan, who sat in the backseat, plugged into his iPhone, listening to music. The Chasers won, forty-five to thirty-eight, but Ryan had been benched for the second half, unprecedented in his basketball career. He’d scored six points instead of his usual fifteen or so, and missed every three-pointer. He hadn’t played good defense either, and the ball had been stolen from him twice. After the game, he’d come out of the locker room with his head down, stone-faced and atypically apart from his teammates, who’d emerged laughing, talking, and slapping five after the victory.
“How are you feeling, honey?” Pam asked, to the rearview mirror. The sky around them was gray-bright, thick with a winter cloud. The air smelled damp and chilled, like snow was coming.
Ryan didn’t reply. Jake glanced back, but he couldn’t see Ryan, who was sitting behind him.
“Ryan? You okay?” Pam repeated, louder, though it was obvious that Ryan was avoiding conversation. He knew Ryan had to be dying inside, the least of his worries being the way he’d played.
“Ryan!” Pam said, more sharply, because she knew when she was being avoided, too.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“Honey, don’t beat yourself up. Everybody’s entitled to a bad day, and you’ve been sick. Your body can’t recover that fast. You’re probably dehydrated.” Pam squinted into the rearview. The traffic light was still red. “Don’t you have any water with you?”
“No.”
“We could stop at McDonald’s or Dunkin’ and get you some. You want to?”
“No thanks.”
“But they’re on the way home, and you must be hungry. Don’t you want to stop and get something to eat? It might perk you up.”
“I don’t want anything.”
“What did Coach Marsh say?”
“Not much.”
“But what?”
“He said, next time to tell him if I’m not feeling good.”
Pam frowned. “Okay. But what would he have done differently?”
Ryan shrugged.
“He didn’t say?”
“No.”
“He would have played you, no matter what. You’ve never not started.”