The Stranger

“So that’s it, Adam.” Cal spread his hands. “That’s the whole home-field advantage in a nutshell—the human desire to conform and be liked.”

“And so you yell at the referees—”

“At away games,” he interrupted. “I mean, we need to keep our advantage at home. But at away games, sure, scientifically speaking, you need it for balance. Staying quiet could actually hurt you.”

Adam looked away.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, I want to hear it. You’re an attorney, right? You work in an adversarial business.”

“I do.”

“And you do what you can to influence the judge or opposing counsel.”

“I do.”

“So?”

“Nothing. I got your point.”

“But you don’t agree with it.”

“I don’t really want to get into it.”

“But the data is pretty clear.”

“Right.”

“So what’s your issue?”

Adam hesitated and then figured, why not. “It’s just a game, Cal. Home-field advantage is part of it. It’s why we play half of the games home, half away. So it balances out. In my view—and hey, it’s only mine—you’re justifying bad behavior. Let it just play out, bad calls and all. It’s a better example to the boys than screaming at referees. And if we lose an extra game or two a year, which I doubt, it’s a small price to pay for decorum and dignity, don’t you think?”

Cal Gottesman started working up his counter when Thomas came out of the locker room. Adam held up a hand and said, “No big deal, Cal, just my take. Excuse me, okay?”

Adam hurried back to the car and watched his son cross the field. There is a definite walk when you feel good about a win. Thomas stood more upright, a bounce in his step. There was a hint of a smile on his face. Thomas didn’t want to let that joy out, Adam knew, until he was in the car. He waved to a few friends, ever the politician. Ryan was on the quiet side, but Thomas could be mayor of this town.

Thomas threw his lacrosse bag into the backseat. The stink from the much-sweated-in pads began their assault. Adam slid open the windows. That did some good, but after a game in the warm weather, it was never enough.

Thomas waited for them to get about a block away before allowing his face to light up. “Did you see that first goal?”

Adam gri

“Yeah. Only my second goal using my left.”

“It was a nice move. The game wi

They went on like this for quite some time. Some might think it was being boastful. It was actually the opposite. With his teammates and coaches, Thomas was modest and generous. He always gave credit to someone else—the guy who made the pass, the kid who made the steal—and grew shy and embarrassed whenever he was made the center of attention on an athletic field.

But alone with his family, Thomas felt comfortable cutting loose. He loved to go into details about the game, not just about his goals but about the entirety of play, what the other kids said, who had played well, who hadn’t. Home was a secure haven for that—a familial cone of honesty, if you will. Corny as it sounded, that was what family should be. He didn’t have to worry about sounding like a braggart or a phony or any of that. He just spoke freely.

“He’s home!” Cori

“Great game, honey.”

“Thanks.”

Ryan offered his brother a fist bump of congratulations.

“What’s for di

“I got one of those marinated skirt steaks on the grill.”

“Oh yeah.”

The steaks were Thomas’s favorite. Not wanting to break the mood, Adam dutifully gave his wife a kiss. They all washed up. Ryan set the table, which meant that Thomas would have to clear it. There was water for everyone. Cori

It was a strikingly ordinary albeit cherished family di

Tick, tick, tick . . .

For most of the meal, Thomas held court. Ryan listened raptly. Cori

“Did you win any money?” Thomas asked.

“I never gamble,” Cori

Both boys rolled their eyes.

“I’m serious. It’s a terrible vice.”

Now both boys shook their heads.

“What?”

“You’re so lame sometimes,” Thomas said.

“I am not.”

“Always with the life-lesson stuff,” Ryan added with a laugh. “Cut it out.”

Cori

Adam just shrugged. The subject changed. Adam didn’t remember to what. He was having trouble focusing. It was as though he were watching a movie montage of his own life—the happy family he and Cori

Tick, tick, tick . . .

A half hour later, the kitchen was cleaned. The boys headed upstairs. As soon as they were out of sight, Cori

“What’s wrong?”

Amazing when he thought about it. He had lived with Cori

There had been, he thought, no surprises. He even knew her well enough to know that what the stranger had alleged was indeed possible.

Yet he hadn’t seen this. He hadn’t realized that Cori

Cori

“Did you fake your pregnancy?”

Chapter 8

The stranger sat at a corner table at the Red Lobster in Beachwood, Ohio, just outside of Cleveland.

He nursed his Red Lobster “specialty cocktail,” a mango mai tai. His garlic shrimp scampi had started to congeal into something resembling tile caulk. The waiter had tried to take it from him twice, but the stranger had shooed him away. Ingrid sat across the table. She sighed and checked her watch.

“This has to be the longest lunch ever.”

The stranger nodded. “Almost two hours.”

They were watching a table with four women who were on their third “specialty cocktail” round and it wasn’t yet two thirty. Two of them had done Crabfest, the variety dish served on a plate the approximate circumference of a manhole cover. The third woman had ordered the shrimp linguini Alfredo. The cream sauce kept getting caught up in the corners of her pink-lipsticked mouth.

The fourth woman, whose name they knew was Heidi Da