“Help, Dad. Just help,” said Eddie as he looked up weakly from the ottoman.
“He makes us run, Dad,” said Trent, pointing toward the crunching sound in the kitchen. “We were doing drills. Soccer drills.”
“You made Mary Catherine disappear and replaced her with a drill sergeant,” Ricky said. “We’re not that bad, are we? Well, I mean, we’re sort of bad, but this bad? Honestly, what did we do?”
The blender stopped, then whirred again.
“And he says he’s making us smoothies,” said Eddie. “But I saw vegetables, Dad. He bought vegetables from the corner market! I definitely saw carrots and even some green stuff. That’s not a smoothie, Dad. That’s V8 juice!”
“Give it up, fellas,” I said with a smile. “You couch-potato Nintendo athletes could use some running around. Not to mention some vegetables. Mary Catherine would be pleased.”
CHAPTER 38
I WAS TURNING into the hallway near the back bedrooms when I ran into the female Bennett contingent near the rumbling washer and dryer. They glared at me in unison. Another group of unhappy campers, apparently.
“First the boys, now you,” I said. “What’s wrong? What are you guys up to?”
“Doing our laundry, thank you very much, Father,” said Juliana.
“But Martin can handle that,” I said.
Six sets of female eyes glared back at me in unholy unison.
“Are you nuts, Dad?” said Jane. “Do you know how embarrassing that would be? Martin is not—and I mean never—doing my laundry. Or I’ll…run away!”
“We all will if that man in there even glances at the laundry of any female member of this family,” chimed in Fiona.
“Forever!” said Chrissy.
“Forever? Wow, okay, ladies. I’ll work on it. Sheesh,” I said, slowly backing away.
“Hey there, Martin. How’d the first day go?” I said back in the kitchen.
“Ah, they’re great, so they are,” said Martin. “They complained a bit about the running around, what with the rain and all, but that’s natural. Listen, I think that little one there—Trent, is it?—has some real potential as a footballer, especially for a three-footed Yank, but what are we talkin’ about my day at work for? I heard it on the radio. They hit us again, have they?”
I nodded.
“Is it bad?”
“It’s pretty bad, Martin,” I said.
“And I thought the troubles in Northern Ireland were bad. Who’s doing it? Is it those al Qaeda nut jobs again, do ya think?”
I shrugged.
“We don’t know yet.”
“Well, I thought it best to keep the TV off on account of the youngest ones,” Martin said. “I thought you’d handle the situation best.”
“Good call, Martin,” I said.
And now for another, I thought, taking out my phone and hitting a speed-dial number.
“Hey, Tony,” I said. “I’d like to get four large pies, one plain, two sausage, and one with pepperoni.”
“Mike, whatcha doin’? Don’t bother with that. I got dinner covered. I’m making them some smoothies with Caesar salad.”
“Hey, that’s perfect, Martin,” I said. “We’ll have everything with the pizza.”
CHAPTER 39
“MMM, THIS PIZZA sure is good,” I said in the dead silence to break the ice.
It certainly needed some breaking. I looked around the table at the kids with their faces downturned at their food. It was suddenly Buckingham Palace formal and pin-drop silent with Martin having joined us for dinner.
“Fine. I’ll say it if no one else will, Dad. Are we all going to die or what?” said Brian around a mouthful of pepperoni.
“What?” I said, glaring at him.
“What’s wrong?” asked Bridget.
“Oh, it’s nothing really, little sis. We’re just under attack by a bunch of insane terrorists again,” Brian said, staring at me like it was my fault. “Not for nothing, Dad, but if we have to move again somewhere, you can count me out. I’m going to lie about my age and join the marines or something.”
“Relax,” I said, looking around the table. “There was a blackout on the East Side. They think somebody did it deliberately. That’s all. We don’t know who’s doing it, okay? It’s a mess, and we need to pray for a lot of poor people who are affected, but it’s okay. Honestly.”
“Okay?” said Juliana. “First they blow up a train tunnel, then they kill the mayor, and now—”
“You’re going to pass the garlic salt, young lady, and we’re all going to have some nice dinner-table conversation,” I insisted loudly.
I guess I was a little louder than I intended to be, because everyone stared at me like I was nuts. Except for Martin, who, I could see, was trying hard not to laugh at me and the rest of us Bennett lunatics from behind his napkin.
In the awkward silence, I suddenly tossed out an even more awkward conversation starter.
“Hey, how about those Yanks, Eddie, huh? Pettitte’s looking sharp, isn’t he?”
Eddie stared at me quizzically, as though I had just grown another head.
“Well?” I said again, louder.