Lisa’s voice did not rise. It got smaller and harder, which was worse.
“Then you can watch the rest of this game at her house. Take your jersey and get out before the next snap.”
The crowd on the television scored. Somebody in the broadcast yelled. In the family room nobody cheered. Cole sat with sauce on his fingers. Rick looked at the door and at his son and at the phone in his wife’s hand, and the next snap had not happened yet, and the getting out had.