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now it’s everywhere. Her bones, her brain. Everywhere.”
    Cody exhaled slowly. Please, God, he prayed. Help me help Murph. Help me be strong. Help me to focus on him, not my own sadness, which feels like it might swallow me again.
    He studied Murphy’s sullen face for a few moments and then said slowly, “I know what you mean. It was the same thing with my mom. It’s hardto play carrying that kind of weight around inside. It’s hard to focus. You try to get away from it, but it just keeps creeping back on you.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “Does Coach know about your situation?”
    “No. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Have my dad write a note that says, ‘Please excuse AJ if he occasionally plays like a stiff. His mom is dying’? Besides, I don’t get the impression that Coach Lathrop would care. He’s one cold dude.”
    “Well, maybe I can say something to him, if that’s okay with you.”
    “I guess so. I do wish he knew that I wouldn’t make an error like that, not under normal circumstances.”
    Cody stood to go. He felt a flood of words pressing to escape from his mouth. But which ones could he release, and which ones needed to be held back? He remembered all the well-intentioned but stinging clichés people peppered him with in the weeks after his mother’s death—“At least she’s not suffering anymore.” “She’s gone to a better place.” “It was God’s will, and you must not question his sovereign will, young man.” “Cody, you must be grateful for the time you did have with her—some children grow up without a mother.” Or his least favorite—“Your dad is young and quite handsome—he’ll find a new wife soon. Just you wait and see!”
    The only guy who always seemed to know the right words to say was Blake.
    Blake. Cody smiled as the name flashed in his mind. “Hey, Murph,” he began tentatively, “I don’t want to go giving you advice, because you’re probably getting a lot of that, but can I suggest something?”
    “I guess so. I mean, you’re probably the only person in the whole town who knows what this is like.”
    “Well, there’s this guy, Blake Randall. He’s cool, and he really helped me when my mom died. He’s still helping me, in fact. He’s the youth director at Crossroads Community, my church, and—”
    “Church?”
    Cody didn’t like the way the word sounded, coming from Murphy’s mouth. “Uh, yeah.”
    Murphy wagged his head slowly. “Look, I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but I don’t need God, man. I need my mom to be well again. I need my mom back.”
    Cody nodded. “I understand what you’re saying. When I had to watch my mom die slowly, there were times I didn’t want anything to do with God. Other times I was mad at him. But I found out that when it all went down, I needed him more than ever. So think about talking to Blake. He comes to all our games. He’s the skinny guy with the Yankeesbaseball cap and the ugly gray shorts. Maybe I can at least introduce you to him?”
    “I guess so. But I’m not joining any church or anything.”
    “Nobody’s asking you to. I just want you to know that there are people who care. Blake’s one of them. So am I.”
    “Thanks, Cody. Now, if you don’t mind—”
    Cody headed up the dugout steps. “You need some time alone. I understand.”
    The Rockies earned their first win of the season against a team from Maranatha Christian School’s summer program. Brett Evans scattered five hits—all singles—over seven innings in a 7–1 victory. Pork Chop launched his third homer in as many games, and Cody smacked his first extra-base hit of the season, a line drive over the shortstop’s head that led to a stand-up double.
    Murphy committed his second error of the season, overrunning a dribbler down the third base line. Cody sprinted in from the outfield to console him when the inning ended. “Those slow rollers are a bear to field,” he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I