Tad’s team won.
“Come on over, Tom. I want you to meet him.”
“You do?”
“Sure. He’s heard me talk about you plenty of times, and he’ll be tickled to finally meet my best friend. Tad!”
“Daddy! We won! Did you see me snag that fly ball?”
“I sure did, son.” The ball had seemed to be aiming directly for his head, and Jack’s heart had been in his throat. Tad had gotten his mitt up before his face, and the solid smack when the ball hit it made Jack bite back a whimper. Then his son had lowered his mitt, revealing a bloody nose. Tad hadn’t cared that blood was dripping onto his uniform, he just waved the ball triumphantly. “You did great. Your whole team did great.” Why was he so nervous? “Tad, this is my friend, Tom Weber.”
“How do you do, Mr. Weber. It’s nice to meet you.” Tad extended his
