Ray rubbed the back of his hand over his stubbly jaw and wasn’t surprised when he felt nothing. The morning the police had come to the house to notify him that Ray Junior had died in a car crash, he’d stopped being able to tell the difference between hot and cold. His wife said it was temporary, but Ray knew it wasn’t, the same way he knew he’d never be able to watch his son play football for the Stars again. Ever since that morning, his senses had been confused. He’d watch television for hours only to realize he’d never turned up the volume. He’d pour salt into his coffee instead of sugar and not notice the taste until his mug was nearly empty.

Nothing was right any more. He’d been a big shot when Ray Junior was playing for the Stars. The guys he worked with, his neighbors, the boys at the bar, everybody had treated him with respect. Now they looked at him with pity. Now he was nothing, and it was all Calebow’s fault. If Ray Junior hadn’t been so upset about getting cut by the Stars, he wouldn’t have driven through that guardrail. Because of Calebow, Ray Senior couldn’t hold his head up any longer.

For months Ray Junior had been telling him how Calebow had it in for him, accusing him of drinking too much and being some kind of goddamn druggie just because he took a few steroids like everybody else in the NFL. Maybe Ray Junior had been a little wild, but that’s what had made him a great player. He sure as hell hadn’t been any goddamn druggie. Hale Brewster, the Stars’ former coach, had never complained. It was only when Brewster had been fired and Calebow had taken over that the trouble started.

Everybody had always commented on how much he and his son looked alike. Ray Junior’d also had a misshapen prizefighter’s face, with a big nose, small eyes, and bushy brows. But his son hadn’t lived long enough to get thick around the waist, and there hadn’t been any gray in his hair when they’d buried him.

Ray Senior’s life had been filled with disappointments. He thought about how he wanted to be a cop, but when he’d applied, it seemed like they wouldn’t take anybody but niggers. He’d wanted to marry a beautiful woman, but he’d ended up with Ellen instead. At first even Ray Junior had been a disappointment. But his old man had toughened him up, and by the kid’s senior year in high school, Ray had felt like a king as he sat in the stands and watched his boy play ball.

Now he was a nobody again.