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over a meeting of Little League parents, arguing about which park they’d use for practice.
    Anna realized she was panicking, desperately searching for something to think about other than trading Zach to Texas. She had to calm down. This meeting was strictly business. Cold, impersonal numbers. No personalities involved. Just money.
    She forced her lips to curve into something that resembled a cool, professional smile. “And?” she asked Small. “What does Texas want for Brock?”
    She heard him name names. Mechanically, her mind recorded the players—a hot prospect for shortstop, that kid they’d just signed straight out of college. A left-handed pitcher who was tearing up the minors. A right-handed reliever. “And Zach Ormond,” Small concluded, just when Anna was thinking it was safe to breathe.
    “They’ll take on his contract?” Boyd asked, his banker’s gaze shooting darts across the table.
    Small shrugged. “If they get the rest of the package.”
    “Do it,” Boyd snapped. Anna barely resisted the urge to pick up his fresh pencil and snap it in two.
    “There’s a problem,” Small said.
    “There’s always a problem,” Jimmy Conway muttered. Anna was pretty sure the manager would have punctuated his observation by shooting a stream of tobacco juice through his teeth, if they’d been outside.
    Small looked around the table before his gaze settled on Anna. He seemed to be speaking only to her when he said, “Zach Ormond has a no-trade clause.”
    “Shi-i-it!” Jimmy moaned, stretching the word into three syllables.
    Anna’s heart beat so fast she had trouble catching her breath. Of course Zach had a no-trade clause. She remembered Gramps talking about it years ago, back when the contract was first negotiated. For the entire time he’d owned the team, Gramps had insisted he’d never agree to a no-trade clause, and he wasn’t about to accept one for Zach Ormond. But over the course of weeks, of months, Zach had convinced the Bensons that he truly loved the Rockets. He loved Raleigh. He’d begun his professional career with the team, and he wanted to retire with them.  
    And Gramps had finally been swayed by the catcher’s earnest arguments. He’d agreed to the Rockets’ first-ever no-trade clause.
    Zach couldn’t be forced to go to Texas, even if that team wanted him. Even if they agreed to pick up the now-outsized payments due on his contract. Despite the waves of disappointment that rippled across the table from everyone else, Anna had to fight down the urge to laugh.
    One of the scouts said, “You can talk to him, Skip.”
    Jimmy shrugged. “Sure. I can explain he’ll have a bigger role with Texas. They’ve got that new kid, what’s his name, the big left-hander? With Zach catching him, that kid could win a Cy Young. Or three.”
    Anna watched the men absorb Jimmy’s prediction. Coach seemed certain he could make Zach see reason, and everyone else around the table was soon nodding. As if Zach’s trade were a done deal, they fell to discussing the other players, the guys down in the minors who had vast amounts of potential but weren’t yet working cogs in the Rockets machine.
    Anna listened to all the justifications. The scouts launched into spirited defenses of a couple of the guys. Before long, though, conversation switched over to the challenge of finding replacement parts. There were a couple of college kids they’d just seen play. One high-school shortstop who showed some real potential.
    It was all a game to them, a giant jigsaw puzzle. Pieces could be sanded down, made to fit. A few could be flipped over, colored in on the back so everything matched. Everything lined up.  
    Throughout the conversation, Anna kept looking at the notes she’d scribbled on her legal pad. Zach Ormond , she’d written, underlining his name three times.  
    She imagined him watching this meeting, absorbing the blows as he and his teammates were swapped like baseball cards instead of like men.