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We smiled at each other before realizing we weren’t the only ones in the room. I looked away first.

Dad closed his menu and narrowed his eyes at Reed’s granddad. “Are you sure you’ll be able to look after the stadium if you win this tournament, Louis?”

Oh, hell, here we go.

Mr. Fulton folded his menu and set it on his lap. “When we win the stadium, William, we’ll be just fine. But your concern is noted. Perhaps with all your free time, you can volunteer your services there as needed.”

Dad tensed next to me. “We’ll be too busy managing another stadium elsewhere for that.”

Thanks for the reminder.

The hostess appeared. “Mr. Crowley, your table is ready.”

Wait. Our table?

Mr. Fulton slowly rose to his feet. “We were here first, young lady. We’ve been waiting for almost half an hour.”

The hostess’s eyes widened. “My manager had a table set aside for the Crowleys before they came—”

“But you don’t take reservations,” Reed said. “You never have.”

Mr. Fulton put his hand on Reed’s shoulder. “Never mind that.” His gaze went from my father, my mother, and then to me.

I shrunk a good four feet from that look.

“I’ve just remembered why we don’t go out to eat here,” Mr. Fulton said. “Let’s go.”

I jumped up. “You could have our table, if you like.”

Everyone stopped and stared at me like I had grown three heads. I might’ve…I mean, anything was possible in the Upside Down.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Mrs. Fulton patted my shoulder. “But you go on and enjoy your meal.” She looped her arm through her husband’s and left, Reed following closely behind without a second glance at my family—or me.

Chapter Twenty

Reed

“But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, it’s a part of our past…It reminds us of all that once was good and that could be again.”

—Terence Mann, Field of Dreams

Pitchers didn’t have to report for practice Monday, and apparently Eliza didn’t have rehearsal till later in the afternoon, so we met up at the old ball field at Clairview Elementary School. The one in Fairfield was in much better condition, but she had said it was too “risky.”

I knew risky.

Risky was throwing too many games without enough rest time in between.

Or trying a forkball when the bases were loaded.

Or hoping a knuckleball could save your ass when you’ve all but ripped apart the tendons in your shoulder.

Hanging out at a ball field in the same town as your families shouldn’t have been risky. Then again, eating at the same restaurant at the same time shouldn’t force one family to have to leave either. After we left Angelo’s, Granddad was angrier than I’d seen him in a long time.

But Eliza had offered her family’s table to us.

Had he noticed? Had her father?

Did it really matter to either?