Free Hit and Nun by Peg Cochran Page B

she forgot all about the corn chips on the way back home.
     
    • • •
     
    Bernadette was in the kitchen with Lucy when Lucille got home.
    “How’s my little granddaughter?” Lucille said, holding out her arms for the baby.
    Lucy gurgled and settled her head against Lucille’s shoulder. Lucille automatically started to rock from side to side.
    “You know, holding a baby is like riding a bike. You never forget how.”
    Bernadette grunted. Her arms hung limply at her sides, as if she didn’t know what to do with them when she wasn’t holding her daughter.
    “How are you and Tony coming along with the deposit on a house?”
    Bernadette shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
    “You guess? Any idea when you’ll be getting your own place?”
    Just then Lucy began to wail.
    “She’s hungry,” Bernadette said.
    Lucille handed the baby back to her daughter. “Any thoughts on getting her baptized? We don’t have to go through a whole big rigmarole or nothing. Just take her over to the church and have Father Brennan perform the ceremony quick like. Just you and Tony, me and Frankie, Flo and Aunt Angela and Grandma Theresa and—”
    “No.”
    “What do you mean, no?”
    “No, okay? I told you—me and Tony don’t believe in baptism so I’m not going to change my mind.”
    Oh, yes you are going to change your mind or my name isn’t Lucille Mazzarella. If worse came to worse, Lucille would borrow Lucy for an hour or two and take her over to the church herself.
     
    • • •
     
    Lucille opened the refrigerator and stood in front of it, undecided. She rummaged around and found a plastic container of leftover baked penne from the other night. She’d skipped breakfast so she figured she could have a little more than usual for lunch. It was all about balance is what she’d read in some women’s magazine.
    She put the pasta in the microwave and set the timer for a minute. There were thirty seconds left when the phone rang.
    Lucille grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”
    “Hello, Mrs. Mazzarella?”
    “Yes.” Hardly nobody ever called her Mrs. Mazzarella, and it sounded strange to Lucille.
    “This is Dave Smith from the National Life Insurance Company.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Do you have a moment to talk?”
    The timer had dinged on the microwave, and Lucille looked at it longingly. She was starved, but she figured she ought to give the guy a chance to tell her why he was calling. Maybe it was something important.
    “Yeah, sure.”
    “I’m sure you realize that protecting your family is important.”
    It sure is, Lucille thought. Like having your kids baptized.
    “Have you given any thought to purchasing life insurance?” Dave asked.
    “No, we haven’t. It’s enough to pay the mortgage every month and put food on the table.”
    “I understand, believe me, I understand. But you can insure your family’s future for pennies a day. What if something were to happen to your husband, for instance?”
    Nothing better happen to Frankie, Lucille thought. She wasn’t planning on being no widow. She was going to go first. She thought about the second mammogram she’d just had. Maybe she was already dying?
    “We can offer you one hundred thousand dollars in protection for only a few dollars a month. Isn’t the security of knowing your family is protected worth that much?”
    Lucille glanced longingly at the microwave. Her pasta had probably already cooled down. She didn’t want to reheat it too many times on account of the penne would get soft. She wished this Dave guy would get to the point.
    “I’d like to come by and discuss some of our products with you,” he said.
    Products? First he’s talking about insurance and now suddenly it’s products?
    “I think it would be better if you talked to my husband when he’s home,” Lucille said. “We don’t make no big decisions without talking it over first.”
    “Can I call this evening?”
    Lucille had stretched the phone cord as far as it would go and was edging