“Coach Wally… I coach Gracie’s team.”

“Oh.”

No apology. She was staring at her hand; the sticky had rubbed off. She was apparently trying to decide whether to wipe her hand on her skirt; she said, “Well, Wally, I had an important case go to the jury today, so I was late for Grace’s game.”

“No, ma’am, I meant because of, uh… you know… your mother.”

She looked up from her hand and frowned. “My mother? What about my mother?”

“Oh, my gosh, don’t you know?”

“Know what? ”

Not even his executive experience as a night manager at the Taco House out on the interstate had prepared Wally Fagan to deliver this kind of news. But he had opened his big mouth too far to shut up now.

“Mrs. Brice, your mother had a stroke.”

She recoiled. “A stroke? When? ”

“Uh, today, I guess. She’s in the hospital.”

She appeared confused. She pointed back toward the field. Wally looked that way; a man was sitting alone in the bleachers.

“My husband didn’t say my mother had a stroke.”

“Gracie’s dad was at the game?”

She was now looking at Wally like he was a complete idiot.

“He’s sitting right over there in the goddamn stands!”

Now Wally was confused; he removed his cap and scratched his burr-cut head. He kept his hair cut short because that way he didn’t sweat as much under the hair net at work.

“You’re not looking for Gracie, are you?”

She exhaled loud enough for him to hear. “I didn’t come for the snow cones, Wally.”

“But… but she’s… she’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“To the hospital, to see your mother.”

“My mother lives in New York!”

“But your brother said your mother had a stroke and he came to take Gracie to the hos-”

The woman lunged at Wally and grabbed his jersey, her eyes and face suddenly wild like an animal; she clawed so close he could feel her hot breath on his face when she screamed.