“They never had a winning team before,” said Bill, his mouth full of bagel. “Face it, that second half against Gilead was incredible. Matt Engelhardt is one amazing quarterback. Let her go.”
“Not if she’s sick…”
“I feel okay, Mom, I really do.”
“You can’t go on an empty stomach. Not if you’re going to be leading a pep rally. And where is this away game?”
“Lake Wingate.”
“See!” Lucy turned to Bill. “That’s at least an hour from here, maybe more. What if she gets sick on the bus?”
“I won’t get sick on the bus,” said Sara.
“I’m not very happy about this. Not after what happened on the bus after the last away game.”
“That was just a combination of youthful high spirits and a very tired coach. You can be sure it won’t happen again, not after that meeting,” said Bill. “Everybody will be on their best behavior.”
“Dad’s right, Mom. Coach Buck really chewed out the players and told them that if anything like that happens again they’re off the team, no exceptions.”
Lucy was running out of arguments. “Okay,” she said. “Take some nutrition bars, okay?”
“Okay,” said Sara, giving her a hug.
Lucy’s day was back on track. She would stop in at the Pennysaver office to check in with Ted and then she would head across the state to St. Bernard’s Home in Salem to talk to Father Keenan. She packed lunches for Bill and Zoe, gave Sara’s cheerleading outfit a quick touch up with the iron, sent everyone off with a kiss, fed the dog, tidied the kitchen, took a shower, blow-dried her hair, got dressed, and was finally ready to go. Except that when she got out to her little rental car she discovered it had four flat tires. Preston had apparently made good on his threat, she decided, as she called the rental place.
“Four flat tires? I never heard of such a thing,” said the agent.
“They just don’t make ’em like they used to,” said Lucy, pretending ignorance. She was not about to admit any responsibility for the tires; the rental company and the insurance company would have to sort it out. “How soon can you get it fixed?”
“We’ll have somebody out there right away,” promised the agent.
Lucy doubted it, but she took up her position by the front window to watch for the repair truck anyway. Car trouble was a lot like a toothache, she decided, because it was hard to think of anything else. So she stood there, watching for the truck, impatiently tapping her foot.
She had a clear view of Prudence Path and watched as the school bus arrived and the kids filed aboard, followed moments later by Coach Buck’s departure in his minivan. Five minutes later she heard the familiar roar of Preston’s Harley when he left for school. He didn’t have a passenger so Tommy was apparently still recovering at home. With his mother dead, his father in jail accused of murder, and his younger brother to care for, it was no wonder Preston was acting out. Lucy could almost forgive him, but not quite.
Next to leave was Scratch Westwood, the vet, driving his aged Jeep. Lucy wondered if it was true that he had been having an affair with Mimi and if that explained Willie’s mood swings. He was followed in short order by Chris Cashman’s husband in his little Honda. The clock in the hall ticked, the road was empty, there was no sign of the repair truck. Lucy was thinking of calling again when Chris Cashman’s big Expedition came into sight; Lucy wondered if today was KinderGym or French lessons or maybe AquaBabies. Thank goodness she’d raised her babies in simpler times when getting together with some other mothers and their little ones for a once-a-week playgroup was considered sufficient stimulation. A few minutes later, Willie Westwood came screeching up to the stop sign in her Wagoneer; she tapped the brakes in a token stop and was off. Golly gee, that woman sure loved her horses; she couldn’t wait to get to them. Then, once again, it was quiet. Only Frankie, Bonnie, and Tommy remained on Prudence Path and soon it would likely be only Tommy, when Frankie went to work in the real estate office and Bonnie headed out to run her errands. Lucy didn’t like the idea of him being there all alone but there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
Finally, the repair truck chugged up the hill and turned into her driveway.
“Whoa, what happened here?” demanded the mechanic, a slight young fellow with sun-bleached hair and grimy hands.
“I don’t know,” said Lucy. “This is how I found the car this morning.”
“Somebody slashed these tires,” he said, showing her the cuts in the black rubber. “Do you have any idea who did it?”
“Of course not. Why?”
“You better file a police report or the insurance won’t pay.”
“Really?” Lucy had been hoping to get on the road as soon as possible.
“Really.”
It took the mechanic almost an hour to change all four tires, and then Lucy spent another half hour at the police station, filing a report that morphed into a complaint against Preston. Lucy knew it was necessary, but she didn’t feel comfortable about it as she finally began the trip. The last thing she wanted was for the situation to escalate.
As she turned into the carefully landscaped grounds of St. Bernard’s Home, Lucy belatedly wondered if she should have called ahead. For all she knew, Father Keenan could have one of the terrible diseases of aging like Alzheimer’s, ALS, or Parkinson’s. Or perhaps he was fit as a fiddle and maintained a busy schedule of golf and bridge. She’d been foolish to assume he had nothing better to do than sit and wait for her to come and ask him questions. But when she asked for him at the reception desk she was relieved to be sent out back to the garden, where she found him picking tomatoes.
“Father Keenan?”
“How can I help you?” replied a tall, lean man wearing a black cotton shirt with a backwards collar, farmer’s overalls and a straw hat. His creased face was deeply tanned and he had bright blue eyes.