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thank the Lord those two didn’t breed. Can you imagine what that devil bitch would have spawned?” Pet snickers.
    I feel a pang in my stomach . Actually, a baby might have been good for Cass. I turn back to the game.
    When I came back from college sixteen years ago, Roland and Cass were already married. It was a hard time for me, returning home with a baby but no man and facing the rumors that ran through this silly little town. No one wanted to believe that Shay’s father had been killed in a motorcycle accident. Rumors are much more fun. Roland and Cassie were about the only friends I had. And Clay.
    Clay was perfect in every way: tall and muscular, blond hair that he wore long, big baby blues, and a smile that would melt ice. Almost every girl in town was chasing after Clay.
    I probably should have never come back, but I had my reasons. I secured a job at Central Elementary, teaching the fifth grade, after Pearl Soper, the oldest living virgin—by her own proclamation—died at the tender age of eighty-six. Dealing with those kids should have done her in decades earlier. Things got better for me after I started working and Clay legally adopted Shay. Once I was considered a respectable member of society, the rumors died down. Roland, Cass, and I maintained some kind of relationship, often double dating—not that what Clay and I did was ever considered a date, at least by my standards. But it was hard, me with a toddler and those two acting as if the world would end if they had to be apart.
    Shay’s back is to me. She has her knees bent and her bat back as far as it will go. The pitch is fast and high, but Shay goes for it anyway and sends it to right field. She’s nearing third base before the ball makes it back to the infield. She glances back and, instead of stopping, keeps on going, picking up speed, headed for home.
    “I’m pretty pissed at Roland,” Pet says as Shay slides feet first under the catcher. “He promised he’d take that morning shift for me today. No call, no show. I oughta write him up for that shit.”
    Pet’s words catch me off guard. I scoot down until I’m right behind the couple and tap him on the shoulder. He turns and eyes me up and down, as if I’m interrupting something important.
    “Roland wasn’t at work today?” I try to ask matter-of-factly, but it’s hard to conceal the surprise in my voice. Roland likes money, and it’s unusual for him not to show up for an extra shift.
    “No, he wasn’t. And if you see him, tell him he’s on my shit list.”
    The umpire yells, “Safe,” and I turn to see Shaylene standing by home plate and wiping the dirt from her pants.
    Safe.
    Roland didn’t come over for coffee this morning. Cass was driving his truck in town. And he didn’t show up for work. Something’s not adding up here.

Chapter Five
    Babe
    T he rain starts just as I see that blue pickup turning the corner at Fourteenth and Chouteau. I know Cass is driving because the vehicle is going too fast and swerving all over the road. She doesn’t drive much. Usually, Roland’s the one who comes to visit. He brings Cass into town on the weekends, and they stop by together sometimes, but Roland comes to see me at least once a month. I think he’s a decent man. He takes care of my girl, or at least, he tries to take care of her. Or he used to… I don’t actually know anymore.
    I always tell the girls that they need to be able to see both the good and the bad in people. Of course, the many-colored auras that surround everyone are constantly shifting, so just because someone may have a shade of gray at times doesn’t mean they are necessarily bad. Maybe they’re having a tough day, or they have a lot on their minds. Maybe they need someone’s help to turn the gray to white.
    But whatever their colors are, you have to be able to see them. Guessing about people is dangerous.
    Yet with Roland, I’ve never been able to see past his eyes. Something about him makes him impossible