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  Phin sat beside her, intent on the game, oblivious to the heat.

  “So Tuckers don’t have sweat glands?” she said, as she watched Dillie come to bat.

  Dillie fanned the ball, and Phin winced and said under his breath, “Watch the ball, Dill,” and a second later, the coach stood up and yelled, “Watch the ball, Dillie!”

  “Uh, this doesn’t really matter to you, does it?” Sophie said.

  Dillie hit a single, and Phin said to himself, “Okay, that’s not bad, not bad.” Then, evidently realizing she’d been talking to him, he turned to her. “What?”

  “Oh, jeez, you’re one of those Sports Parents,” Sophie said. “It’s not just a game, it’s a reflection of you and all of those in your bloodline who ever picked up a bat. It’s—”

  “We like to win,” Phin said. “It’s the American Way

  .”

  “Right,” Sophie said. “ ‘We’re ten and one.’ ”

  “What?”

  “It’s from a movie,” Sophie said. “ ‘We’re Americans, we’re ten and one.’ The ‘one’ being Vietnam. Never mind.”

  He frowned at her. “Stop quoting. What do you have to be nervous about here?”

  Sophie looked around at the various curious and hostile faces, with Virginia glaring in their midst like a basilisk. “Let’s just say I’m not feeling the love.” She started to twist her fingers where her rings had been, and Phin put his hand over hers.

  “You’re okay.” He folded one of her hands into his and moved it to his knee, and she sat there in the sun, holding hands with the mayor, while Temptation parenthood looked at them from the corners of their eyes and whispered.

  It was probably a nice change from talking about the murder and the video premiere.

  The next batter grounded out, and Dillie went to play third base.

  The pitcher wound up and threw the ball with her eyes closed and it sailed over the head of the batter and into the backboard.

  “Oh, Christ,” Phin said under his breath. When Sophie raised an eyebrow, he leaned closer and said, “This kid can’t pitch, but she has low self-esteem so her mother insists.”

  “You’re kidding,” Sophie said. “Why are we whispering?”

  Phin pointed to a tense woman in navy shorts sitting two rows in front of them. “That’s Mom. President of the PTA. Nobody to mess with.”

  The pitcher wound up again and threw the ball almost straight up in the air. “Concentrate, Brittany!” the woman two rows down yelled, and when Brittany got the ball back, she screwed up her face in intense concentration and flung it as hard as she could. It went west and hit Dillie smack on the temple.

  “Ouch,” Phin said under his breath.

  Dillie picked herself up and rubbed her head, and her coach went out to see her. Dillie nodded, and then the coach motioned somebody in from off the bench, and Dillie came up into the stands.

  “I’m really okay,” she said to Phin, blinking tears from her eyes. “Coach just thought I should sit down for a minute.”

  “Let me see, honey.” Phin looked in her eyes and held up two fingers. “How many fingers?”

  “Two,” Dillie said, focusing on his hand. “I can go back in.”

  She sniffed once, and Sophie said, “Oh, take a break. Come here.” She opened her arms and Dillie crawled into her lap and put her head on Sophie’s shoulder. “We could use some ice here, Dad,” Sophie said to Phin, as she took Dillie’s cap off. “If you can’t get that, get a cold can of pop.”

  “Actually she should probably go back—” Phin began, but Sophie met his eyes and he stopped.

  “Ice,” she said, “or there will be a scene.”

  “Okay,” Phin said, and went.

  “It kind of hurts,” Dillie said.

  “I can imagine.” Sophie kissed Dill’s forehead where the bruise was starting to come up. “Now you match your dad. He has one, too.”

  “So do you.” Dillie looked up at her, as if she were gauging the moment, and then she said, “The whole family matches.”

  Sophie caught her breath.

  “Don’t we?” Dillie said, pressing closer, and Sophie thought, with more certainty than she’d ever dreamed possible, This is what I want.

  “Yes,” she said, and Dillie said, “Excellent,” and cuddled closer.

  Phin came back with some ice in a plastic bag. “Let’s see, Dill.” Dillie straightened a little and then winced as Phin put the cold bag against her bump. “Just hold it there a minute and then you go back.”

  “I don’t think so,” Sophie said, holding Dillie close and watching the field. Brittany had just whiffled one past the new third baseman, who was looking very uneasy.

  “Back off,” Phin said to Sophie. “This is my kid. She’s a fighter. Right, Dill?”

  Dillie straightened and nodded. “I’m a Tucker, and Tuckers are brave. We don’t quit.”

  “Yeah?” Sophie said. “Well, I’m a Dempsey and Dempseys are smart. We don’t go back on the field until the coach pulls the pitcher who’s trying to bag her limit on third basemen.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Brittany’s mother said from two rows down.

  “Sorry, Catherine,” Phin said at the same time Sophie said, “Teach your kid to pitch before you force her out on the field.” When Phin turned to give her the universal Shut the fuck up look, Sophie added, “Well, I don’t think maiming her friends is helping Brittany’s self-esteem. Look at her.”

  Down on the field, Brittany was sniffing back tears. That didn’t stop her from pitching, of course, and with one mighty heave, she took out the new third baseman.

  “I want to be a Dempsey,” Dillie said.

  “What?” Phin said, and Sophie said, “No, no, honey, you’re a Tucker. You’re just like your daddy. You need to defeat somebody on a regular basis or you’ll start to twitch. Just wait until the coach disarms Brittany, and then you can go back.”

  Brittany’s mother stood up, sent them a meaningful look, and stalked down the bleachers.

  “Listen,” Phin began, but out on the field, the coach was on her knees talking to Brittany, who was sobbing and nodding in what looked hike relief.

  “Yeah, sports are great for kids,” Sophie said, and when the new pitcher came in, she said, “I don’t know. This one looks wild, too.”

  Phin shook his head. “Tara Crumb. Her mother pitched the junior high to the semifinals and her father played high school baseball with me.”

  “Yes, but do they work with her?”

  “Nightly,” Phin said. “This one can pitch. Will you let go of my kid?”

  Sophie opened her arms, and Dillie said, “Jeez, are we sure?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” Phin said, and Sophie said, “Yes. We have examined the family tree in detail, and they pass. You may go.” She handed Dillie back her cap and added, “Put your cap on, though, it’s hot out there.”

  Dillie nodded and started down the bleachers again.

  “Clearly you do not understand athletics,” Phin said.

  “Clearly, I do,” Sophie said. “Davy and Amy both played. And believe me, any pitcher who hit either of them lived to regret it. Dempseys get even.”

  “It’s a game, not a war,” Phin said, his eyes on his daughter as she went back on the field.

  “Then why is your daughter wounded?” Sophie said, and then stopped.

  Down at the foot of the bleachers, Brittany’s mother was talking to Liz Tucker. While Sophie watched, Liz lifted her eyes to the top of the bleachers and stared, unblinking, at her son and the nightmare he’d brought to the game.

  “Your mom’s here,” Sophie told Phin, who was still watching Dillie.

  “I know.”

  “Boy, are you in trouble now.”

  He leaned back and let his arm fall along the rail behind her. “I’ve been in trouble since I met you. This is just more of the same.” He squinted at the field as Tara pitched a strike. “You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re worth it.”

&nb