Maybe Gail, who was no longer as young as she’d been when she was the Hot Young Thing, was afraid of losing Dad.

Not that he was such a prize.

At the moment, he was goofing around with Savannah’s hair, pulling a strand, then pretending he wasn’t when she turned around to see. Both of them were smiling and laughing, and Gail would occasionally look at them and smile, her red-painted lips a bit ghoulish in the natural light.

“Hey, Yogi!” Colleen said, using the nickname her sister loved. “Ready to kick some patootie? Hi, Dad. Gail.”

“Why are you in a candy store shirt?” Savannah asked.

“Oh, they’re short a player, so I’m on their team today. It’s okay. I’m still rooting for us.” She winked at her sister.

“How are you, Colleen?” her dad said, glancing over her shoulder. “Marian! Good to see you!” Yes. Schmooze the mayor.

Gail tossed her shiny red hair. “Listen, Colleen,” she said, her voice already tight. “About Savvi playing...” Gail was the only one who used Savannah’s sappy nickname, and insisted that it end in an i, preferably topped with a heart. “This is her last game. We’ll be focusing on cheerleading from here on out.”

Savannah looked at the ground.

“Oh, yeah?” Colleen said. “Do you like cheerleading, hon?”

“I guess,” Savannah muttered.

Colleen gave her father a sharp look. He returned it blankly.

“Cheering will be a better sport for you, sweetie pie!” Gail said. “You look really pretty in that little outfit, too. Stand up straight, Savvi. It makes you look perky.”

“Well, you look great in catcher’s gear, too, Savannah,” Colleen said. “Very kick-ass.”

Gail narrowed her eyes, then looked away in distaste, as if Colleen were a shmooshed porcupine rotting on the side of the road. Colleen narrowed back. But now wasn’t the time to argue, not in front of Savannah, not in front of the crowd, which was thick tonight with tourists and townies alike.

Motherhood obviously hadn’t given Gail the type of daughter she’d thought she’d preordered. She’d wanted a gorgeous little doll, a girly-girl who loved clothes and nail polish and long hair...ironically, a little girl like Colleen had been. Not a sturdy tomboy who’d asked for a poster of Jorge Posada for her last birthday.

“Okay, Dad, Mother Gail,” Colleen said, earning another glare. “See you later! Come on, Savannah, let’s go.”

“Go get ’em, tiger,” Dad said, and Savannah grinned over her shoulder. “I’ll be watching!”

Colleen felt the familiar pang. She should be more like Connor, who’d given up on Dad long ago.

“Collie, I don’t know if I should be a cheerleader,” Savannah said mournfully. “Some of the girls are mean.”

“How are they mean?”

Her sister swallowed. “They just are. The way they look at me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Someone said I was fat, and no one talked to me at tryouts.”

Colleen’s jaw clamped tight. “You’re not fat, sweetheart. You’re strong.”

“I’m chubby.”

“Honey, people come in all shapes and sizes.”

“I wish I looked like you.”

The words were stated with such hopelessness that Colleen stopped and dropped to her knees. “Savannah, you’re wonderful. Do you know that? You’re so funny and smart and I love being with you. I always have. You also happen to be absolutely adorable. You’re my favorite person in the whole world.” She smiled. “Don’t tell Connor, he’ll get jealous.”

Savannah smiled, but her eyes stayed sad.

“And Dad’s crazy about you. No one wants you to be anything but exactly who you are.”

Except Gail-the-Tail-Chianese-Rhymes-with-Easy-Hyphen-O’Rourke. Savannah’s mother.

“I wish I could keep playing baseball,” Savannah whispered.

“I’ll talk to them,” Colleen promised. “We’ll see what we can do, okay?”

Paulie Petrosinsky was coming onto the field. Perfect. A role model of physical strength in an unconventional package. “Over here, Paulie!” Colleen called. “Do you know my sister? Savannah O’Rourke, meet Paulie Petrosinsky, my friend.”

“What’s up, kid?” Paulie said, fist-bumping Savannah. “Word on the street is you’re the best player in town.”

Savannah’s face lit up. “Thanks,” she said.

Well, well, well. Colleen owed Paulie a drink on the house.

The three of them went into the dugout, where the rest of the team was assembled, pulling on gloves and cleats. “Coll, wrong shirt,” said Kelly Murphy, Shannon’s sister and part of the Murderer’s Row of the O’Rourke offense.

“I know, I know,” she said. “I have to play for Stoakes tonight.”

“You gonna throw the game?” Bryce asked, coming down the steps to the dugout. Paulie’s face began its burn.

“I won’t have to, because we’re so superior. Gang, today we have a new player. Paulie, welcome!”

“Hi, Paulie,” everyone said. Connor cocked an eyebrow, all too aware of the matchmaking in progress.

“Bryce, would you help Paulie with her glove? She’s never played baseball before.” A lie, but hey.

“Seriously, dude? This is gonna be fun,” Bryce said. “I bet you’re a natural.”

The goal had been secured: a physically close moment. Paulie had been instructed to ask for help as much as possible.

Bryce gave the glove a tug, his hand on Paulie’s wrist. “Looks good!” He slapped her shoulder and trotted out to the mound.

“He touched me,” Paulie whispered, her breathing fast and shallow.

“Okay, don’t faint. I have to go. Keep an eye on Savannah for me? She’s a little blue.” Plus, if Paulie was good with kids, as she seemed to be, Bryce could see her as the potential mother of his children.

It was hard to be in charge of the world, Colleen mused as she trotted out to the shortstop position. Savannah was clearly dejected. Gail kept gesturing from the bleachers...probably some horrid advice like “suck in your stomach.” It was throwing off Savannah’s game.

And if Gail had her way—which she usually did—it would be Savannah’s last.

Dad watched his youngest intently, cheering every time she came to the plate. The poor kid struck out twice. “Good try, baby!” Dad called both times. “You’ll get ’em next time!”

Colleen looked away. Paulie had been instructed to high-five Bryce every time he got a hit (he was really good), so Colleen had to keep an eye on that. She was also watching Connor to see if he was giving any significant looks to anyone, because he just wouldn’t crack and tell her who his mystery girlfriend was. He was clever, too; he’d erased his texting history on his phone, which she had stolen that very morning. Damn that twin telepathy thing.

Mom kept braying with laughter at whatever Stan, Stan the Hairy Man said, then looking over at Dad, who wasn’t watching, which caused Mom to laugh more and more loudly until she sounded like a laboring mule. Brahahaha! Brahahaha! In between innings, Coll texted her. Quiet down, you’re trying too hard.

Her phone chimed with the answer. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Another donkey bray.

Sigh.

In the second inning, Colleen led off with a double, then watched as the next three runners struck out. In the fifth, she walked and again didn’t score, since Stoakes’s offense would’ve had trouble hitting a beach ball.

Then, in the eighth inning as Colleen was walking back onto the field, Lucas appeared with Joe and Didi.

As usual, Didi Campbell looked pissed off about something. Bryce loped over and said hello, then returned to the dugout, as O’Rourke’s was up.

Lucas helped Joe sit; he’d brought a camp chair, which was good, because the bleachers were uncomfortable. Joe didn’t look so good; his skin was dark and he was moving slowly. The evening was cool; Lucas had brought a blanket, too, and tucked it around his uncle, then sat next to him on the bleachers and said something, making Joe laugh.

He was an awfully good nephew.

Her heart wobbled dangerously.

He glanced up, and Colleen looked away fast.

Savannah was coming up to bat. She wiped her eyes with the back of her arm. “Time!” Colleen called, and ran over to her sister. “Honey?” she whispered, kneeling down. “What’s wrong?”

Savannah’s pressed her lips together. “It’s my last at bat, that’s all,” she whispered, and a tear streaked down her chubby little cheek. She glanced toward the dugout, obviously afraid that her tears would be noticed.

Colleen squeezed her shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart. I’ll talk to them. I told you that already. Don’t cry.”

“Do you really think you can change her mind?”

“Please. Who do you think you’re talking to? Does anyone say no to me?”

Savannah gave a watery smile. “I guess not.”

“Of course not!” Colleen glanced over at her father; he was standing, looking concerned. She’d take him aside later and force him to let Savannah stay on the team. Cheerleading was fine; in fact, Colleen herself had done a little in middle school. It just wasn’t for Savannah. “Now come on. I want you to knock it out of the park, okay?”

“Okay.” Savannah wiped her eyes once more. “Don’t tell anyone I was crying.”

“Gotcha. Here, let me pretend to check your eye.” Colleen examined Savannah’s eye solemnly. “It looks clear to me,” she said in a regular voice.

“Everything okay?” the umpire said.

“She had something in her eye. We’re all set now. You ready, Yogi?”

Savannah grinned. “Yeah. Thanks, Colleen.”

Coll ran back to her spot between second and third. She felt warm, suddenly, and the back of her neck prickled.

Lucas was watching her, his eyes steady on her, and for a second, it felt as if they were the only two people here.

“Stee-rike!” called old Mr. Holland, their home plate umpire.

Colleen smacked her fist into her glove and gave Savannah a smile. Big Frankie, the pitcher for Stoakes and a lug-headed jock, wound up and threw again.

“Stee-rike two!”

Lucas was still watching her.

He’d always had a way of looking at her that went right into her bone marrow, making her skin thrum and buzz.

The crack of the bat made her head snap back to the game. Line drive to the gap, Coll could catch it in three paces, but she’d be damned if she was going to. She took two strides and made a dramatic, full-out lunge for the ball, pulling up an inch short and hitting the dirt hard. The ball flew past her and into the outfield, rolling into no-man’s-land.

The crowd roared. Savannah rounded first and chugged toward second—hurry, hurry—and Shannon Murphy scored. Colleen picked herself up and watched as Lefty Moore streaked after the rolling ball. People were screaming and yelling as Savannah hit third and kept going, and Colleen’s toes curled—an in-the-park home run, that never happened, let alone to a nine-year-old girl.

Lefty fired the ball to Colleen. She caught it and threw it home, timing it so the ball hit Evan Whitfield’s glove just a second after Savannah’s foot hit the plate.

“Safe!” Mr. Holland shouted, and everyone on both sets of bleachers was on their feet, cheering and screaming and whistling. Connor ran out of the dugout and scooped up their sister, giving Colleen a subtle thumbs-up.

Savannah’s sweet face shone as the entire O’Rourke’s team swarmed her. Con hoisted her up on his shoulders, and the rest of the team—the fabulous Murphy girls, Bryce and Paulie, Ned Vanderbeek, everyone, all high-fived her, cheering and hooting. Con said something, and Savannah turned and tipped her hat to the crowd, getting another roar, and Colleen guessed this was pretty much the best day of her little sister’s life.

“So close, Colleen,” said Emmaline Neal, the third baseman, with a knowing smile.

“Quite a dive,” Robbie Mack added, slapping her on the butt. From the stands, Faith pointed at her and smiled, then continued clapping.

“Nice try, Colleen,” Jeremy called from first. She held out her hands in the “whatcha gonna do” gesture and grinned.

So, sure. She’d thrown the play. She was a good player, and Savannah’s hit had been catchable, especially by the town’s best shortstop. But it was worth it, and her teammates knew it. Just about everyone knew it except Savannah, and Colleen felt a rush of love for her town. No one would ever tell Savannah that she’d been handed that hit.

Then Dad ran over to home plate, and Savannah wriggled down from Connor and jumped into her father’s arms. “Daddy, Daddy, did you see that?”

“Are you kidding? It was amazing!” he said. “My little girl hit a homer! I’m so proud of you, baby!”

Colleen waited for him to glance over at her with that same fond smile she was getting from people on both teams.

It didn’t come. He only had eyes for Savannah.

Colleen’s happy bubble deflated a little. She looked away.

“Okay, okay, batter up,” Mr. Holland said, and Paulie picked up the bat and came to the plate.

Colleen assumed the position, bending her knees. But she kept looking over at Dad. Savannah was in the dugout, still accepting congratulations from the team, chattering in amazement, her eyes bright, gesturing wildly, completely at home with her peeps. Dad kept looking over at her, beaming and pointing—Who’s my girl?—and accepting some backslaps of his own for having raised such a little prodigy.