Remembering the kid who had skittered away from the bleachers when I got there, I could imagine what Manny had heard. The boy had probably seen the jacket and someone stomping on it. One thing was certain in a small town: there are no secrets—at least not for long.
Manny wiped his face with his hands and stared at me. I don’t know what he saw, but sitting here in a booth where we’d sat so many times in the past, I saw teenage Manny, not the grown up.
The image was of a wild-haired boy with a d**k-tightening grin, a kid everyone loved because of his playfulness and wit. A kid whose happiness entered a room with him and made everyone, no matter how glum, how tired, how disappointed with life, brighten. His smile kissed the people around him and put them at ease. Everything was okay in the
