Mr. Howard knows who to call out when the middle hitters walk out onto center court.”
“Put down whoever you like,” Travis said, taking his napkin off his lap. He folded the paper into a tight, hard square. “Just do not put my name on a line meant for another man.”
He stood up from his place without eating another bite of his casserole and walked across the linoleum toward the back mudroom.
The screen door latched shut behind him with a small metallic snap, leaving the smell of diesel fuel and baked cheese hanging over the kitchen table.
“Eat your green beans, Mason,” I said, forcing my hands down flat into my lap.
Mason picked up his spoon, but his heels started their nervous tapping against the chair legs again. “Is Travis mad at Kaylee for playing volleyball?”
“No, honey,” I told him, looking down at the crust of
