said, pulling back his newspaper. “I haven’t seen Duane at a weeknight game since ninety-eight.”
Travis kept his eyes fixed on the red lines painted on the gym floor below.
I looked at my watch. It was five fifty-two.
The home team had finished their warm-up drills and were gathering near the bench area to pack away their extra balls. Howard was standing by the scorer’s table at center court, holding a clipboard and talking to the head referee.
I stood up from the bleacher bench, stepping over Travis’s boots as I reached the aisle.
“Where are you going?” Travis asked, his voice low and tight.
“I am going to check the side entrance,” I said.
“He has to drive eight miles from the farm in the dark,” Travis said, his lower jaw shifting to the left. “He won’t make it across the tracks if the six o’clock freight train
