Nash ran headlong at Trey.
“Hey boy!” Trey caught his son mid-stride and swung him into the air, balancing him on his shoulders.
“Why is Coral here?” Nash, hugging Trey’s neck, whispered in his ear.
“She’s not so bad.” Trey helped the boy down from his perch. “Cut ‘er some slack.”
Dragging his dad toward the swings, Nash made a face. “She’s not my mommy.”
Trey felt a pang of regret, more sorry for his mistakes with Phoebe every day.
“No, buddy boy,” Trey said, catching sight of Coral sulking along the playground fringe. “She sure ain’t.”