But when she drove over to the high school to pick Sara up after cheerleading practice, Lucy couldn’t think of a way to broach the subject. She was parked by the field, watching the girls go through their routines. They looked so cute and young and thoroughly wholesome with their bouncy pony tails and pink cheeks and white teeth that she didn’t want to spoil the mood by bringing up an uncomfortable topic like hazing. She was so totally absorbed by their acrobatics, holding her breath as one of the girls was tossed high into the air, that she didn’t notice when a woman approached her car and stuck her face through the open window.
“Hi! I’m Willie Westwood and you’re Lucy Stone, right? You live in that adorable farmhouse up the road.”
“That’s me,” said Lucy. Willie’s smiling, freckled face was inches from hers. “You must live in one of the new houses on Prudence Path.”
“That’s right,” said Willie, straightening up to her nearly six-foot height. She was dressed in skin-tight beige riding pants, knee-high black boots and a grubby T-shirt that proclaimed she’d rather be riding. “My daughter Sassie, she’s the redhead. She mentioned that your daughter is on the squad, too.”
“Really?” Lucy couldn’t imagine what this was leading to.
“Well, what I was hoping was that we could work out some sort of carpool thing. I don’t know about you but I’m always coming and going with a million things to do and it would be a big help if I didn’t have to get over here every afternoon. Especially since you never know how long the practice is going to take. I mean, yesterday I was supposed to help out at my husband’s office, he’s a vet, you know, but I got stuck sitting here for almost an hour, waiting for them to finish.” She lowered her voice. “That’s Frankie LaChance, over there.” She cocked her head towards a cute little Volkswagen convertible. “She lives next door and her daughter Renee is on the squad, too, but just between you and me you can’t count on Frankie to be dependable.”
“Oh,” was all Lucy could think to say.
“So it’s a deal? We’ll take turns picking them up. I’ll do tomorrow, but I can’t do Monday.”
“Deal,” said Lucy, giving Willie’s hand a shake. “Monday. You can count on me.”
Then the girls broke formation and began picking up their things. Lucy watched as Sara walked across the field, accompanied by Sassie and another girl whose curvy figure and assured walk made her seem much older.
“That’s Renee LaChance,” hissed Willie, raising her eyebrows.
“How old is she?” asked Lucy.
“A freshman. Can you believe it?”
“Well, girls nowadays…”
“Believe me, that girl is trouble,” warned Willie.
That evening, after the supper dishes had been cleared, Lucy took her cordless phone and her battered Fannie Farmer cookbook out onto the porch and sat down in her favorite wicker chair, the one with the comfortably worn cushions. The book bristled with sticky notes and recipes torn from magazines and newspapers and she took her time leafing through it. There was that orange loaf cake she used to make, and the low-cal Caesar salad she’d never gotten around to making. And shish kebab, that would be good on the grill. Finally, in the very back, she found the list she was looking for, now yellow and brittle with age.
The women’s names were all familiar, but she hadn’t spoken to many of them in years. Once they had all been connected by a network of shared interests: school, scouts, youth soccer, and Little League. They were constantly calling upon each other for rides for the kids, for refreshments, for a volunteer to chaperone a school field trip. What had happened? wondered Lucy. Why hadn’t she spoken to Marge Culpepper or Franny Small in such a long time? Once they’d been among her dearest friends but now she hardly ever saw them, and then only in passing, when they exchanged jaunty waves as they drove off in opposite directions.
“Marge? It’s Lucy Stone.”
“Land sakes, if you aren’t a blast from the past, Lucy Stone.”
It was a bit awkward. Lucy didn’t feel as if she could impose after such a long silence. “So how have you been?”
“Fine, just fine.”
“Great. How’s Eddie?” inquired Lucy, asking about Marge’s only child, who was Toby’s age.
“He’s in Iraq, you know. In the Marines.”
Lucy was stunned. “I didn’t know. I’m glad you told me, I’ll keep him in my thoughts.”
“And your family?”
“Elizabeth spent the summer backpacking in Europe and now she’s back at Chamberlain. Sara’s got her first job, she’s at the Queen Vic. Toby’s engaged….”
“Engaged. My word. Time sure flies.”
“It sure does. That’s one reason I’m calling. We’re having an old-fashioned bake sale for the Hat and Mitten Fund, next weekend at the IGA, and I was hoping you’d make that famous coconut cake of yours.”
“Oh, my word. I haven’t made that in years.”
“That’s the idea. We thought we’d bring back some of those goodies everybody loved so much.”
“I wish I could help out, but I don’t have time. I’m training for the Think Pink Triathlon, for breast cancer, you know.”
Marge, who had always seemed slightly older than her years thanks to twenty extra pounds and a tight perm, had never struck Lucy as the athletic type. “Triathlon?”
“Yeah. I’ve been doing it for years now, ever since I was declared cancer free. It’s great, this year it’s in California. I can’t wait to go. Last year I made the top half of finishers and I’m hoping to make the top ten percent this year. I’ve really been working on my swimming, that’s where I’m weakest. The cycling’s a breeze and my running’s okay. It’s the swimming that slows me down.”
“Well, good for you,” said Lucy, absolutely floored.