Chapter 15: The New Game on the Asphalt
The morning sun rose over Oak Creek with the same blinding white glare as the day before, burning the dew off the manicured lawns and warming the suburban pavement until the air shimmered above the tar. Marcus stood at the top of the driveway with the deflated volleyball in his hands, waiting for Toby to walk down the block with his sneakers untied.
The front door opened, and Arthur Vance stepped onto the porch. He looked tired, his eyes shadowed with fatigue, but his step was steady as he adjusted his glasses and picked up the morning paper from the welcome mat. He didn't mention Washington, the black SUVs, or the metal lockbox behind the bookshelf. He simply looked at the volleyball in Marcus's hands, then down at the dark smear on the concrete where the old Spalding had met its end.
"That ball's a little light on air," Arthur said, his voice calm and level as he stepped off the porch and walked toward the driveway.
"I can pump it up later," Marcus said, feeling a strange, quiet lump in his throat that he couldn't quite swallow down.
Arthur reached out and took the ball from his son’s hands, bouncing it once on the warm concrete. It gave a dull, hollow thud that sounded nothing like a real basketball, but it bounced back up to his palm with reliable persistence. He caught it, smiled faintly, and tossed it back.
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"Let's see if you still have that jump shot," Arthur said.
Marcus caught the ball, took two dribbles across the cracked asphalt, and rose into the morning air, his sneakers leaving the ground just as a gray delivery truck rolled quietly past the end of the cul-de-sac without slowing down at all.
