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jotted down the Townsends’ phone number. Nine times out of ten when a kid lost focus like this,there was something going on at home or he’d gotten mixed up in some kind of substance abuse. Cal flatly refused to believe a kid as smart as Tyler would suddenly start doing drugs; besides, he’d seen no real evidence of that or alcohol abuse so that left some kind of upheaval in the kid’s home life.
    Cal sighed. There was nothing like calling parents and digging around in their personal issues to make his day. He’d rather take a hard fastball in the gut.
     
    Maddie had been on three job interviews that day. None of them had gone well, pretty much proving Helen’s point. Maddie had been out of the workforce too long for her degree or her work experience to count for much. Her résumé of early jobs looked pitiful, especially with the fifteen-year gap since the last one. She might think she was executive material, but no one else would so she’d kept her expectations modest.
    When each of the human resources people had seen that gaping void, they’d regarded her with dismay. Each had asked some variation of the same question: What have you been doing all this time?
    Keeping house, raising kids, resolving squabbles and balancing the checkbook. Not even the unpaid hours she’d put in handling the inevitable billing problems in Bill’s medical practice seemed to count for much.
    The only thing more discouraging had been her own lack of excitement about any of the jobs. Most of them had been clerical positions, the kind of entry-level work she’d done twenty years ago. It struck her as ironic that all those years of life experience had left her unqualified for even that type of work.
    She was still thinking about it—and about the alternative Helen and Dana Sue were offering her—when Ty yanked open the car door and climbed in, his increasingly frequent scowl firmly in place. He’d yanked his T-shirt on inside out, yet more evidence that he wasn’t himself. Since he’d discovered an interest in girls, he’d taken more care with his appearance, but today he looked unkempt. Given the streaks of dirt on his arms and his perspiration-matted dark blond hair, it didn’t even look as if he’d showered after practice.
    “How was practice?” she asked automatically.
    “It sucked.”
    “Having trouble with your fastball?”
    “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, turning to avoid her startled gaze. “Let’s just get the hell out of here. I want to go home.”
    Keeping her temper in check, she regarded her son with a neutral expression. She would deal with his language later. “Ty, what’s going on?” she asked quietly.
    Her son’s mood had been increasingly dark ever since Bill’s last visit. Her attempt to force the issue the other night had apparently fallen on deaf ears. He was still angry and he still wasn’t speaking to his dad. When Bill had come by the night before to pick up the kids, Ty had remained locked in his room, refusing to see him.
    On some level, she’d counted on the start of baseball season to provide a certain normalcy for him. He loved the game. He excelled at it. He’d claimed there was nothing he wanted more than a shot at being a professional ballplayer. Usually by this time in spring practice, he was quoting Coach Maddox every chance he got. Of course, in the past his father had been there to listen.
    When he remained stubbornly silent, she prodded again. “Ty, talk to me. I’m not starting this car until you do. What’s going on with you?”
    “Why does everybody keep asking me that?” he exploded. “You know what’s going on. We’ve already talked it to death. Dad walked out for some bimbo. What am I supposed to do when I find out my dad’s a jerk? Can’t we just leave it alone? I’m sick of talking about it.”
    Maddie couldn’t really blame him for being sick of the topic, but clearly he needed to discuss it further, if not with her, then with a professional.