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“What did Ethan’s parents say?” Sandra asked Nate as soon as they were alone in their living room.
Nate sighed as if he was sick of talking about it, though they hadn’t talked about it yet. He slowly pulled off his church shoes, and Sandra struggled to be patient. “Roger said he’d take care of it.”
Something about his tone made her suspicious. But she knew that Nate never lied to her. Was her new sleuthing hobby making her less trusting? Or maybe more attune to sniffing out liars? She didn’t know how to proceed. He was done talking about it. She wasn’t. And she didn’t believe what he’d just told her.
After a long pause, she said, “And?”
He pulled his eyes away from the football game on the screen. “And what?”
“And what else did he say?”
Nate stared at her as if sizing her up. Then he rubbed at his jaw as he returned his eyes to the television. “I really don’t think there’s anything to worry about, Sandy. At first, he just laughed it off and said that kids squabble, but I told him that wasn’t good enough, and then he said he’d have a talk with Ethan.” He paused. “And I don’t see what else we can do. That will have to be good enough.”
That was so not good enough. Sandra wasn’t one for drama, especially church drama, but this situation called for some pot stirring. “And did you talk to Jack’s parents?”
“Didn’t see them.”
What a crock. She’d known for a fact that Jack’s mom had been there. She tried to stand up abruptly, using her body language to communicate that she was done doing things Nate’s way, but her body moved too slowly to communicate anything. Just sitting on the couch had stiffened everything up again. When she headed for the door instead of the kitchen, Nate asked, “Where are you going?”
“Going to invite Casey to coffee.” And I’m going to see just how much coffee a woman can consume in a day.
“Honey, don’t do that. What about lunch?”
She held back the groan that was trying to launch. “There are cold cuts in the fridge.” She grabbed her purse and left, taking care not to slam the door behind her. As she walked down the front steps, she looked through her contacts for Casey’s numbers, but of course, she didn’t have it. She didn’t want to go back inside for the church directory. But she couldn’t just show up at the woman’s door, could she? That would be rude.
Yes, she could just show up at the woman’s door. Desperate times, desperate measures.
She had to drive around a couple of blocks to remember where Casey even lived. She’d been there for a ladies’ tea, but that had been years ago, and they’d painted the house since then. She was thankful to recognize Casey’s SUV, and she pulled in behind it. Then she took her time walking to the door, in part to give them time to see her through the window, and in part because every step felt like dying. When she was done with this, she was going to go home and watch Murder, She Wrote for the rest of the day. She couldn’t wait for tomorrow. She would feel so much better tomorrow. Good thing too, as she had her first game. Shoot. Maybe she should be studying the rule book right now instead of out picking fights with church moms. Casey opened her front door. Too late now.
“Hi, Sandra! What can I do for you?” Casey was still in her church clothes. For reasons Sandra couldn’t identify, this annoyed her.
“Hi, Casey. I was wondering if I could buy you a cup of coffee.”
Casey tipped her head to the side and studied her for several seconds. Then she stepped to the side. “I’m not sure I have the energy to go out, but you’re welcome to come in.”
Sandra didn’t want to go in. She wanted to have this conversation on neutral turf. But she wasn’t sure how to make that happen. So, grudgingly, she stepped inside. Immediately, she was annoyed at how immaculate the place was. Did anyone even live here?
Casey swept her arm toward her living room, where her husband Lewis sat, also still in his church clothes. It sure appeared as though he had been there too. “Please, have a seat,” Casey said.
Sandra knew then that she had already been beaten. This wasn’t going to change anything. It might even make things worse. Should she change her mind, apologize? Say she made a mistake? Would that be a better course than the one she was about to endure? Or worse?
Casey decided for her. “So, you’re here to talk about how the boys are getting along?”