The drive there took ten minutes. Eli spent most of it talking about football with the kind of intensity only thirteen-year-olds could manage. Jack listened. Or mostly listened. He dropped him at the edge of the grass just before nine. “Be back where I can find you,” Jack called after him. Eli turned, already walking backwards toward his friends. “Yup, see you later.”
Jack watched him for a second longer than necessary. That had become part of fatherhood too — the constant quiet inventory. Where is he. Who is he with. How long has it been. He ran his errand, grabbed what he needed, and was back at the park by ten twenty-five. The first thing he noticed was that the game had broken up. The second was that Eli wasn’t on the field.