I hope so. I hope there aren’t a whole heap of kids who are already experienced and make Ethan feel bad for not knowing how to play. I worried about it all night.

I pilot the car onto Cardinal Lane toward the baseball complex.

Maybe this will help him form a framework of men he can go to for help and advice.

It’s the one thing in life that I really can’t give him. That drives me nuts.

“Mom . . .”

I slow down for a set of speed bumps leading into Cardinal Park, named after the local high school mascot, and then look at Ethan.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Um . . .” His chin dips. “Do you think there’s any chance that Dad will be here?”

Fuck you, Jared.

I regrip the steering wheel and try to keep my features as smooth as I can. “I know that you’d like him to be.”

He doesn’t say anything, just lightly shrugs.

My heart sinks. “You won’t be alone, kiddo. I’ll be there.”

“You’re always there.”

He gives me the sweetest, saddest smile that I’ve ever seen. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes as I try to figure out how to protect my ninety-pound heart sitting beside me.

“I don’t want you to think that I don’t care that you’re there,” he says. “But I . . . You know, the other kids probably have a dad there, and I . . . It might feel weird, you know?”

“It might. I don’t know how you’re going to feel. But I do know this—I’ll play catch with you in the evenings. I’ll even get a sparkly shirt with Ethan’s Biggest Fan on the back like a proper fangirl.”

This brings a smile to his face. “Don’t do that. Thanks, but don’t do that.”

His smile lifts mine.

I park my car on the end of a long line of pickup trucks and kill the engine. I don’t make a move for fear of rushing him into something that he doesn’t want to do.

If he blurts out that he wants to go home, we’re gone.

Ethan sits in the passenger’s seat and stares onto the wet, brick-red field. Boys his age toss balls to one another, while some walk around in little duos or trios and talk.

“You know anyone out there?” I ask gently.

“Yeah. I know all of them.”

“Are they nice kids?”

“Yeah.” He opens and closes his glove with his eyes glued to the boys on the field. “I know why Dad signed me up.”

My throat squeezes together. Before I can come up with a response that won’t put him on the spot or bring me to tears, he speaks.

“He did it to make himself feel better about not being a good dad.” He turns his head to me. “I’m not a stupid little kid anymore. I understand things.”

“Ethan . . .”

“This is his way of pawning me off on someone else but getting to say he signed his kid up for baseball. It gives him a good line to tell everyone.”