by the trophy case two hours ago were clapping with both hands held high above their shoulders.
They looked over at Travis sitting alone in row one, then back at Duane moving step by step toward the net line.
Travis did not look back at them.
He stayed fixed on Duane’s back, his chest rising and falling beneath his dark work jacket, his fingers digging into the front edge of the wooden bleacher board.
He had thought his fifteen thousand dollar buyout contract was a shield that protected our family from public trouble.
He had thought staying in the bleachers was a quiet legal duty no one would ever have to measure or question.
Now he was sitting six feet away while another man carried his place across the floor in front of the whole town.
I stood watching them, feeling the cold certainty settle into my bones that my
