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Considering how many troubles Sandra was currently juggling in her life, she woke up in a slamming good mood on Monday morning. That is, until she sat up.
Against all expectations, her lameness had not dissipated during the night. In fact, it had intensified. She sat there on the edge of her bed wrestling with reality. How was this possible? She’d had lame muscles on several occasions over the years, and they had never lasted more than twenty-four hours. Was something wrong? Had she injured herself? Should she seek medical attention?
Nate stepped into the room, fresh out of the shower. She paused her worry to enjoy the fresh smell of him, but her worry bounced right back to the surface. “Honey, I’m even sorer than I was yesterday. How is that possible?”
Without looking at her, he laughed heartily. “You’re getting old.”
“What?” She was so not getting old. She wasn’t even forty yet, for crying out loud.
“It’s true, trust me. It’s happened to me too. The older we get, the longer it takes our muscles to recover.”
She cried out in anguish and flopped back down on the bed. “No! That’s terrible news! I have another game today.”
“I didn’t tell you to be a soccer ref.”
Nope, he hadn’t. But did that mean she wasn’t allowed to talk about it? She squeezed her eyes shut.
He gently sat down beside her. “Where does it hurt?” he asked softly.
She moaned. “Everywhere.”
He chuckled. “Everywhere? Are you sure?”
She nodded without opening her eyes. “I’m sure. My hair follicles hurt.”
He ran a hand through her hair, which felt lovely. “Once you get running and warm your muscles up, you’ll be fine.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I’ve got to get ready and head out, but I just wanted to tell you that I’m proud of you. I still think this whole thing is a little nuts, but I’m proud of you.”
She smiled up at him. “Thanks, Nate.” She watched him finish getting dressed and leave the room, and then she peeled herself from the bed and headed toward the kitchen and the coffee pot. She was beyond grateful that he’d already brewed a pot, and she poured herself a generous serving, which she carried with her as she hobbled down the hallway to wake her kids up.
Another week was about to begin, whether they wanted it to or not.
––––––––
With two kids deposited, she returned home determined to study her soccer rule book and take her test. But Bob was waiting on her porch swing.
“I’ve missed you,” she said as she approached.
“You have?” He looked so hopeful that she snickered.
“Sure. Get used to having an angel around, and you miss him when he’s gone.” She unlocked her front door, and he came to stand beside her, taking for granted that she wanted him to follow her inside.
He was right. She was thrilled for the company.
As soon as they were safely inside, he asked, “What’s the plan for today?”
She snickered. “The plan is to try to live through another soccer game, only, I guess, this time Birch will be shadowing me, instead of the other way around.”
“I meant, what are we going to do about our murder investigation?”
She laughed at him. She couldn’t help it. Was he pretending that he was a cop? “I don’t really have a plan. I’m going to ref the game and hope someone tells me something revealing.”
One side of his upper lip curled, making him look a little like a short Elvis. “I don’t think that’s a great plan.”
She eased her sore body down onto the couch. “Well, I’m afraid it’s the only one I’ve got.”
He stared at her for a minute and then sat down beside her. Sammy, still in his bucket seat, stared up at Bob with a foolish grin. “Want me to set him free of that contraption?”
She nodded gratefully. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure I could bend over to do it.”
Bob effortlessly scooped Sammy up into his arms as if he’d done it a million times before. What did she know? Maybe he had.
“How big is your district?” she asked.
“Huh?” He gave her a quick befuddled glance before returning his eyes to Sammy’s.
“How big is your area? How many middle schools do you cover?”
He didn’t answer, and she knew that this too was a secret. Eventually, she’d learn to stop asking him questions.
“Not as many as you’d think,” he said, sounding wistful.
She wondered if angels had rivalries with nearby angels, like schools did. She decided they probably didn’t. “So, you want me to ask Birch some specific questions? This might be my last chance to talk to him for a while.”
He’d been making googly eyes at her son, but at her question, his face fell into the gravest of expressions. “Yes, I think you should.”
“Well, then, I think you should tell me what those questions should be.”
His eyes grew wide. “How should I know?”
She didn’t know why he would know. But she certainly didn’t have any ideas. “Do you want me to ask him if he knows who killed Frank?” She’d been kidding, but it seemed Bob was mistaking the suggestion for a literal one.
After a long pause for consideration, he said, in complete seriousness, “I don’t think we should tip our hand just yet.”
Sandra didn’t think so either. She wasn’t even sure they had a hand to tip.