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  “Listen,” Reynolds said, raising a finger. “You are not—”

  “You know, Reynolds,” Cal said. “When you get home, you’re going to figure out that you just gave your kid the same kind of flashback you and I have been having all our lives. And while you are a butthead, you’re not a mean butthead, so that should give you some good nightmares about your parenting skills. In the meantime, you’re picking a fight with somebody who takes no prisoners. I’d back away slowly if I were you.”

  “We’re going home,” Bink said.

  “I don’t see why—” Reynolds began and then Bink looked at him, her gray eyes steely cold.

  “We,” she said, “are going home where we will discuss this. Min, will you and Cal see that Harry gets home safely?”

  “Yes,” Cal said from behind her, and Min nodded, shaking now that the first adrenaline rush had passed. She stepped sideways, back to her own seat, feeling incredibly rash, not to mention rude, and when she turned and sat down, Cal had already started back down the bleachers, Reynolds and Bink following him.

  Out on the field, Harry had his back to them, but Tony was talking to him, so that was all right. Of course, Tony was probably telling him that his father was a jerk, but as far as Min was concerned, that was all right, too.

  She glanced over at Cynthie, who looked thoughtful. “Hi,” Min said, taking a deep breath. “Enjoy the show?”

  “I wouldn’t have done it,” Cynthie said, “but good for you anyway. You have more guts than I have.”

  “It wasn’t guts,” Min said. “I probably overreacted.”

  “No,” Cynthie said. “Cal overreacted, but he couldn’t help it. Reynolds played that family script and it makes Cal insane. He can’t stand being called stupid.”

  “They get that a lot when they were kids?” Min said.

  “I think they both had lousier childhoods than we can imagine,” Cynthie said. “That doesn’t mean you get to hit your brother in front of your nephew.”

  “He probably wouldn’t have,” Min said.

  “I don’t know,” Cynthie said. “But now you’re the bad guy for the family, not him. So you did him a favor there.”

  “I was already the bad guy,” Min said. “His parents hated me.”

  “I don’t think they like anybody much,” Cynthie said. “They’re very self-absorbed people. Not cruel. They just don’t pay attention.”

  “So,” Min said. “You’re the psychologist, right? What do we do for Harry?”

  “Cal will take care of it,” Cynthie said, nodding down at the field, where Harry and Cal were now sitting in the dugout. She tilted her head at Min. “It was doubly bad because you were here, you know. Harry has such a crush on you that to be embarrassed like that . . .” She shook her head and sighed. “You’re right. Reynolds is a butthead.”

  “Is that the clinical term?” Min said.

  “In Reynolds’s case, yes,” Cynthie said.

  Down in the dugout, Tony sat down next to Liza and said, “You know, I used to think that if I was ever in a bar fight, I’d want you backing me up, but I think Min just moved ahead of you in the ranking.”

  “I wouldn’t cross her,” Lisa said. “That man is a complete loss.”

  “Yeah,” Tony said, his eyes on the field. “But Harry’ll be okay. He has Cal and Bink and Min on his side. I’d take that team any day. Christ, look at that.” He raised his voice. “Hey, Soames, look where you’re throwing the ball.” He shook his head but kept watching Soames anyway, ready to help.

  That was Tony all over, Liza thought. He acted like a big lug but if anybody needed him, he was there.

  She was really going to miss him.

  “Tony,” she said as he bit into his hot dog, waiting until he was eating on the theory that it would soften the blow. “We are not going to work out.”

  “What was your first clue?” Tony said around his hot dog, his eyes still on the field.

  Liza let out her breath in relief. “It’s not that you’re not a great guy—”

  “I know.” Tony swallowed and bit into his sandwich again. Out on the field, a kid bobbled a catch, and he closed his eyes. “Jesus.”

  “We just got caught up in that threesome thing,” Liza said, and Tony stopped chewing and looked at her. “I mean, the three of us, the three of you. You know.”

  “Right.” Tony resumed chewing and watching the field.

  “Bonnie and Roger,” Liza said, “that’s a little spooky, but Bonnie doesn’t make mistakes.”

  Tony swallowed. “Neither does Roger. They’ll be okay.”

  Liza nodded. “And Min and Cal . . . well, I don’t know, but he’s not taking her for a ride, so I’m butting out of that one.”

  “Good.” Tony took another bite, squinting at the field.

  “But you and I are toast,” Liza finished.

  “Yep.” Tony shook his head at the field. “That kid has no arm.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re taking this so well,” Liza said, annoyed.

  Tony shrugged. “I like you, but you’re always charging someplace, creating disturbance, and I like my stability.”

  “Chaos theory,” Liza said.

  “Yep,” Tony said. “Disturbed systems move to a higher order or disintegrate. We disintegrated. Also, you hate sports. Big deal. Nobody’s mad. What’s not to take?”

  “Then why didn’t you end it?” Liza said, annoyed.

  “I liked the sex. Oh, hell.” Tony scowled at the field where a hapless child had just missed a grounder. “You know, some kids should not play baseball.”

  “Actually, I liked the sex, too,” Liza said, thinking about it.

  “Anytime,” Tony said. “Now that’s an arm.” He lifted his chin and shouted, “Nice one, Jessica!”

  Jessica waved back at him and then forgot Tony and crouched down, waiting for whatever came next.

  Jessica is no dummy, Liza thought. “I do like you,” she told Tony, and he looked at her and grinned.

  “I like you, too, babe,” he said. “If you ever need a guy beat up, call me.”

  “Thank you,” Liza said, touched. “If you ever need a woman slapped, you have my number.”

  “Really?” Tony perked up a little. “Can I watch?”

  “And this is why we’re no longer having sex,” Liza said. “So you’re okay?”

  “Yes,” Tony said, and then yelled, “No, no, no,” at the field.

  Liza stood up and kissed him on the top of the head. “Don’t be mean to these kids,” she told him before she left him. “They’re going to grow up to own the companies you’ll be working for.”

  A few minutes before the game ended, Min went down to the fence where Cal was leaning on the dugout. She stood there for a minute, not sure what to do, and then she cleared her throat.

  “That was good, what you said to Reynolds,” she said, hooking her fingers in the chain link. “Really good.”

  Cal looked out at the field.

  Look at me, damn it, Min thought, and searched for something that would get his attention. “And . . . really hot,” she lied, and swallowed hard. “I was very turned on. If there hadn’t been so many people here, I’d have done you in the dugout.”

  Cal stood very still and then turned to her, his face still wooden.

  Uh oh, she thought.

  “Give me five minutes,” he said. “I’ll clear the place.”

  Min exhaled in relief. “You had me worried.”

  “Sorry.” Cal walked over to her and leaned on the fence to talk to her, looping his fingers through the chain link so they touched hers. “That was a bad flashback.”

  “Your dad.” Min crossed her fingers over his because touching him again felt so right. “I got that. Is Harry okay?”

  “No,” Cal said. “But he’ll live.”

  “I don’t know if Reynolds will,” Min said. “Bink looked like the Angel of Death.”

  “His ass is grass,” Cal said. “Doesn’t help Harry much.”