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Sandra greeted her two oldest children as they climbed into the van, but she was operating in rote mode. Only when some part of her consciousness noticed the sullen look on Peter’s face did she snap into the moment. “What’s wrong, honey?”
He tried to ignore her.
She didn’t let him. She knew how to pester someone. She’d learned it from him.
“I’m just anxious about practice.”
She took a moment to be proud of her son’s self-awareness and then asked, “Why are you worried about practice?”
“I think Coach is still mad at me.” He didn’t say it outright, but she thought she heard some accusation in his tone—as if he was also saying, “You made things worse by hollering at my coach.”
“Well, he shouldn’t be,” she said. Lame. That was the best she could do?
“I apologized to Cameron.”
She looked at Peter, stunned. He did? “You did?” No one had told him to do that!
“I told him I was sorry for pushing him, but that he still shouldn’t be picking on people.”
Sandra thought that over. “So you apologized and then implied a threat before walking away.”
Peter actually chuckled, and Sandra had a heady moment. It was so rare that she was able to make her son laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”
They rode the rest of the way home in silence, as Sandra analyzed Peter’s church situation. Wasn’t there something she could do? Maybe Bob could help. He was, after all, the local middle school sports angel. Couldn’t he intervene? If not, what good was having friends in high places?
She’d just pulled into their driveway when her cell rang. She didn’t recognize the number, so she ignored it. “Can you get Sammy, Peter?”
He grunted his assent, and she walked to her house with only a diaper bag and a purse, feeling light as a feather. Her eyes lingered on her porch swing as she walked by, as if willing Bob to appear. Did she miss him? She’d have to put that swing away soon. Winter was coming. A sharp breeze blew some leaves across her lawn as if Mother Nature was agreeing with her.
Peter followed her into the house, swinging Sammy from his taut arm like a wild pendulum.
“Easy!” she cried. “He’ll throw up!” She didn’t think this was likely, but she was grateful to her son for toting the car seat around, so she tried to soften her correction with language her fifth-grader would appreciate.
Peter plopped the seat down on the couch, sat down beside Sammy, and began to unbuckle him. This was a bonus. Usually, he just left him on the floor, strapped in, at the mercy of Mr. T. “I’m starving,” Peter said.
“I know you are. I’ll get some snacks out.”
She didn’t see Peter roll his eyes, but she could hear it in his voice. “Baby carrots don’t count as a snack.”
“Want me to make some dip?” she called out without turning around.
“Yes, please!” Wow, she’d even gotten a please.
Joanna scrambled up onto one of the kitchen chairs. “I love baby carrots.”
Sandra bent to kiss her on the top of the head. “I know you do, sweetie.” She straightened up and went to the fridge, where she retrieved the bag of carrots. She opened them and put them on the table, before turning back to gather dip ingredients. Peter strapped Sammy into his high chair.
“Thanks for being so helpful!”
Peter looked down, his cheeks flushed, so she stopped praising him.
Her phone rang again, and she checked to see who was calling. Was that the same number that had called five minutes ago? She thought so, but she wasn’t sure. She almost answered it, but decided not to. Then, when it stopped ringing, she checked the call history, and sure enough, it was the same number. I might not be Sherlock, but I’m capable of some smart phone sleuthing. She copied and pasted the number into a search engine, then waited impatiently for results.
“Mom,” Peter said, making the word four syllables long, “the dip?”
“Just a sec,” she said without looking up.
The search came back void, and she gave up, dropping her phone on the counter and grabbing the sour cream. She had a weird feeling in her stomach. She found herself really wishing she’d answered the phone. Who calls twice in five minutes? It must have been important. Maybe she should call the number back. But how disappointed she would be with herself to learn it was a political poll. How many times had she answered the call about the bear baiting bill? Again, she wished Bob were there. Maybe he had supernatural caller identification ability.
She licked some stray sour cream off her finger and then stirred the dip. Then she set it down in front of her kids, two of whom dove for it as though they’d never seen food before. “Can I have some juice?” Peter asked.
She nodded. “You know where it is.” She didn’t look at him. He was ten. He could get his own juice, which he did. He even offered Joanna some.
Sandra bit back the praise. She checked the clock and realized they didn’t have much time to dillydally. “Wheels up in thirty.”
Joanna groaned. “We just got home. Where do we have to go?”
“Soccer practice. Sorry, kiddo.”
“Do we have to watch?”
Often they just dropped Peter off and ran errands, but this time, Sandra wanted to stay nearby, just in case. In case of what, she wasn’t sure, but her mother’s intuition was telling her not to go too far from the field. “I would like to watch today, yes.”
Peter gave her an annoyed look, but there was just a hint of relief there too.