The Hammonds’ backyard bustled with activity. It was late Saturday afternoon, and Robbie’s dad was firing up the grill. His mom was unwrapping a platter of hamburgers and hot dogs. Robbie and Ashley were setting the patio table. Ben was due to arrive any minute for a cookout, during which Ray Hammond planned to ask him if he’d help coach the Orioles.

“It’s like that old line from the mob movie: ‘I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse,’” his dad had joked earlier. “A free snowball after every game! With marshmallow topping! How can you turn down a deal like that?”

Right now, though, Robbie was going over what he called “the Ben Ground Rules” for Ashley.

“Don’t ask about his missing arm,” Robbie said.

Ashley made an elaborate show of yawning. It was her favorite way of expressing major disinterest.

“And don’t stare at his missing arm, either.”

Ashley rolled her eyes.

“That’s dumb,” she said. “How can I stare at something that’s missing? Do you stare at the missing roller coaster back here? Or the missing Lexus in the driveway?”

“You know what I mean,” Robbie said. “Just don’t…look at him too much.”

“Okay,” she said. She threw her head back until she was staring up at the sky. “How’s this? I’ll stay like this the whole time. ‘What’s that, Ben? Oh, were you talking to me? Sorry, I didn’t know. Because I’m not supposed to look at you.’”

She pretended to munch on a burger. “Hmmm, might be hard to eat in this position. Oh well, if I choke to death, just roll my body under the table. I wouldn’t want to make your precious Ben feel uncomfortable.”

Robbie grinned. Ashley could be like Marty when she got on a roll. Or Mr. Rumsey. There was no stopping her until she ran out of snappy things to say. Only then would the act be over.

“I know, why don’t we all stare up at the sky while Ben’s here!” she said. “That won’t make him feel too self-conscious.”

“Okay, okay,” Robbie said, throwing up his hands and laughing. “You win. Just don’t do anything crazy.”

“That’s me, Crazy Ashley. Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you,” she said. “Besides, I bet he’s not nearly as wacko about his missing arm as you are.”

At precisely five p.m., the doorbell rang. There on the front steps was Ben. Next to him was a stressed-looking woman who introduced herself as Ben’s mom, Beth Landrum.

“Won’t you join us for dinner, Beth?” Robbie’s mom asked.

Mrs. Landrum smiled and shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m off to work,” she said. “On weekends I wait tables downtown. And I’m running late. Could you drop Ben at home later? His older sister will watch him.” She kissed Ben on the forehead, waved, and hurried back to her car.

No sooner had the door closed than Mary Hammond started in. “Ben, I hear you’re a pretty good athlete,” she said. “Ever play cornhole—you know, with the beanbags? We’ll play after dinner. Although you don’t want to play me, buster. I never lose. Ever. Ask Robbie. I’ll beat you like a drum.”

Robbie looked at Ben and shook his head slowly. Well, he thought, that didn’t take long. In fact, he was pretty sure this was a new personal record for his mom: trash-talking someone she’d known for all of ten seconds.

But Ben just laughed and said, “Cornhole?! I will own you up, Mrs. Hammond! Heck, I haven’t lost at that since I was, like, two.”

Dueling trash-talkers, Robbie thought. Could be an interesting cookout. It’ll definitely be an interesting cornhole game.

When they sat down to eat a few minutes later, Ben told Robbie and his family all about himself. He and his mom and his older sister, Bernadette, had moved to Baltimore from New Jersey three months ago. His mom, he explained, was looking for a fresh start and had taken a job teaching kindergarten at a private school.

“Our old house had too many bad memories for her,” he said. “The divorce, my accident, Bernie having problems in school…”

Now, Ben said, they were living in an apartment across town and Bernie was going to the high school nearby, where her attitude and grades were already much better. And he was attending the middle school there, although he hoped to transfer to York Middle next fall, when the Landrums would be moving into a new house.

Seconds later, he turned to Ashley and smiled. “Robbie gave you all the gory details about my arm, right?” he asked. “What else you wanna know? The tiger that chewed it off? Man, he was huge!”

“Oh, Ben,” Robbie said as Ashley giggled. “You don’t have to—”

Ben held up his hand. “No, it’s okay,” he said. “All the questions from strangers, that gets old. But you guys are friends.”

Ashley shot Robbie a triumphant look. For the next few minutes, Ben patiently answered every question she fired at him. He talked about his long stay in the hospital after the accident, about the months and months of rehabilitation, about all the things he had to learn to do with one arm, simple things like putting on socks and buckling a seat belt that weren’t so simple anymore.

Ashley hung on every word.

“I still have ‘phantom pain’ every once in a while,” Ben said.

“Phantom pain?” she repeated. “What’s that?”

“It’s pain you feel where the arm has been amputated,” he said. “The doctors said that even though the arm isn’t there, the nerves where it was cut off still send pain signals to the brain. And somehow they make the brain think the arm is still there.”

“Okay, Miss Ashley,” Robbie’s dad said finally. “Give Ben a break with the questions.”

“Fine,” she said, picking up her plate and pushing away from the table. “I’m full, anyway. Nice meeting you. But I can see the boys want to talk about something else. Oh, and by the way? They’re going to ask if you’ll help coach their dumb old baseball team.”

As Robbie and his dad stared openmouthed at Ashley, Mary Hammond laughed.

“As you see, there aren’t exactly any secrets in this house,” she said as Ashley ran off.

Now it was Ben’s turn to look surprised.

“How about it, Ben?” Robbie’s dad said. “The Orioles need an assistant coach. I could use the help. All the players like you, and everyone can see you know the game. It’ll give us a fresh set of eyes on some of the problem areas that need fixing.”

Ben said nothing for a moment. He looked at each of them in turn, as if trying to decide if they were joking. “Okay, sure,” he said finally, a little dazed. “That would be awesome.”

Mary Hammond clapped with delight. “We’ll celebrate with ice cream for dessert!” she said. Then she nodded her head in the direction of the cornhole set in the yard and pointed to Ben. “But first, you and I have a little business to take care of, mister.”

“Absolutely!” Ben said, leaping to his feet. “Tell you what, Mrs. H., I’ll even give you a break and play lefty.”

He started laughing so hard that within seconds Robbie and his mom and dad were laughing along with him.

The cornhole game was close from beginning to end. Robbie’s mom was a whiz at the game, but Ben turned out to be a terrific player, too. And he had a unique style, windmilling his arm and making the beanbag float high in the air—higher than Robbie had ever seen anyone toss it—before it landed with a thud near the target hole.

“Are you playing cornhole, or trying to hit the Space Station?” Mary Hammond said at one point, trying to get Ben off his game with her usual nonstop chatter.

“Scoreboard! Scoreboard!” Ben chanted. “I believe you’re down sixteen–thirteen, right? Soon as I whup you, I’ll give you a lesson on how to throw like this.”

“No thanks, hotshot,” Robbie’s mom said. “The patented Mary Hammond low-elevation toss has worked for years. It’s the one that’s going to land me in the Cornhole Hall of Fame—if there is such a thing.”

“If there is,” said Ben, grinning, “I’ll probably have my own wing.” He fired the beanbag high in the air—his highest toss yet—and this time it dropped cleanly in the hole.

“Aaahhh!” Robbie’s mom said with a strangled cry. “You’re so lucky, you know that?”

Ben shrugged nonchalantly. “Another day, another winning toss,” he said, yawning for good measure.

In the end, it was Ben who made good on all his trash-talking, squeaking out a 21–19 win that left Mary Hammond howling in mock pain.

It was one of the few times Robbie ever saw his mom lose at cornhole, but it was clear from the way she was laughing and high-fiving Ben that she didn’t mind at all.

A few minutes later, they were back on the patio enjoying homemade chocolate ice cream.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” Ben said quietly. “I almost forgot what it’s like.”

It was still light out, so after dessert, Robbie got two gloves and the boys played catch. Robbie could see that Ben was looking more and more comfortable flipping the ball out of the glove for the return throw. They played until it was almost too dark to see, even when they threw the ball high in the sky to catch the last faint patches of light.

“Know the first thing I’m going to do as the Orioles assistant coach?” Ben asked.

“Get yourself some sneakers?” Robbie teased.

Ben didn’t miss a beat. “Okay, the second thing I’m going to do. I’m going to get you straightened out.”

Robbie sighed and thought: Good luck with that plan.

“Dude,” Ben said, “you’ve got one of the best arms I’ve ever seen. What I don’t get is: why did you suck like you did against the Yankees? To give up three runs? To those losers? With your stuff? That’s just pathetic.”