He’s easy and fun to talk to. I secretly adore his persistence. Watching him be so kind to my son—taking time out of his day to play catch with him for a moment—doesn’t hurt. And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that seeing him and his mother interact at Bud’s softened my heart a little bit.

But none of that explains the immediate comfort that flows through me as soon as his name comes up in a conversation or his face pops up in my mind. Sure, I’m frustrated, too, but there’s a very clear wash of warmth, like a giant exhale, that accompanies my irritation.

It’s so, so baffling.

“Have I ever told you the story about how my father started Skoolie’s?” Kirk asks.

I shake my head and stomp in the middle of a puddle. Water squishes out both sides of my boots.

“Dad was a mechanic,” he says. “He worked for a guy in Forest Falls but also did work on the side, as mechanics do. A man contacted him one day to see if he could work on his bus because he wanted to convert it into a mobile home, like they do now. But this was back before all of that was cool.”

“I love that you use the word ‘cool.’”

He smiles at me. “So, Dad did it even though he wasn’t a bus mechanic, but he knew enough to help the guy out. And, as things happen, Dad’s name started to float through the bus community that he was the guy to do quality, cheap work.”

Our boots crunch through the gravel as we hit the driveway that leads from the storage sheds to the offices. A deep slate–colored cloud barrels across the sky, and I wonder if we’re going to get caught in a rainstorm.

“I remember overhearing a conversation between my parents,” Kirk says. “Dad was saying that he didn’t think that working on buses was worth the time, and Mom said that the universe was leading him that way for a reason. I suppose that’s why he kept at it. And the skill he learned and the connections he made looking for parts and that sort of thing—he changed his life and mine too.”

“Can you imagine what would’ve happened if he didn’t open Skoolie’s?” I grin. “I probably never would’ve met you. Or Burt.”

Kirk laughs. “Before you get off on a tangent, let me make my point.”

“Then you better hurry because I’m ready to tangent.”

He shakes his head at me. “The point is that you can’t force fate, Palmer.”

“With all due respect, I’m not sure that baseball is my fate.” I make a disgusted face. “Let’s hope not, anyway.”

“Maybe it’s not baseball. Maybe . . . maybe it’s what baseball will lead you to.”

Kirk pauses and lets me take the steps first up to the trailer we use for offices.

“I think baseball is going to lead me to a bottle of wine,” I joke. “And probably a headache.”