house to match.
She was all over me about the stupid self-defense course. I shouldn’t have even mentioned it, except I thought she would be on my side. She’s always on my side about everything else, which is weird when you think about it. I’m probably wrong a lot.
Anyway, she kept saying, “I’m a Real Estate Agent,” as if this might actually INCREASE her credibility. She says there was an attempted break-in up in Pelham Heights, but the guy ran when the alarm went off. Then she peppered me with all the robberies and scams and near misses she’s heard of in her fifty-three years. Shelly would consider it an assault if someone accidentally bumped her with their grocery cart and put a run in her twenty-dollar stockings.
I told her I don’t need to worry about intruders. Anyone stupid enough to sneak up on my house in the middle of the night is going to break his ankle in one of the many gaping holes in my front yard—all thanks to her good friend the contractor, Mr. Dig-and-Disappear.
After she left, I took the kids to Town Beach for the first time since last fall. Just couldn’t stand to be in the house any more. I forgot how big Lake Pequot is. It’s big. And windy. I know the water’s probably full of goose poop, but there’s something about the place that makes you feel almost healthy. It calmed me down from Shelly’s suburban tales of evil and woe.
Dylan was busy digging a hole for a family of twigs he collected and Carly was sleepy, so I lay down on the blanket with her. She kept looking and looking at me. I had to close my eyes to get her to settle down and doze off. When I opened my eyes I saw what seemed like teeny, tiny fireworks hovering above the sand. Then my eyes focused and it was just a swarm of little bugs with the sun glinting off them. It wasn’t a miracle or anything, but for a moment or two it was pretty entertaining.
4
W HEN F ATHER J AKE ARRIVED that Friday he looked dramatically different. Actually, the difference was rather minor, but it made him seem like another person—his twin, perhaps, who was pinch-hitting while the ghostly priest haunted some other woebe-gone soul. He had on the same black jeans and black shirt he wore every day of his life, as far as Janie knew. But in place of the somber black sport shoes, there were tan low-cut hiking boots. And because the weather had turned cooler, he was wearing a brown chamois shirt over the black cotton button down. Strangest of all, the little white insert in his collar was gone. It was as if Johnny Cash had made a side trip to L. L. Bean.
“Everything okay?” asked Janie.
“What—you mean this?” he asked, holding up a large glass jar with a white screw-top. Distracted by his new persona, Janie hadn’t even noticed what he was carrying. “We had a thank-you brunch for all the church volunteers,” he explained. “This had fruit cup in it. I saved it for you.”
“Thanks,” she said, baffled.
“You’re welcome.” He set the jar on the counter in the kitchen. Carly was sitting in her highchair, aiming her tiny thumb and forefinger at a sprinkling of Cheerios on her tray. “She’s up,” said Father Jake. “That’s perfect.”
“For…?” asked Janie.
“For a hike. I thought we could walk over to Jansen Woods.”
“Well, that’s a nice idea but it’s her nap time.”
“You have one of those baby backpacks, right? Would she sleep in that?”
She’d pass out like a drunken sailor, thought Janie. “I guess, but we wouldn’t get very far. Jansen Woods is half a mile from here. You have to be back by noon.”
“Why?” he asked.
“I don’t know. You just always leave at noon.”
“Well, it won’t matter if I’m back later. Do you have sneakers or something?”
Of course she did. There was nothing at all keeping Janie from taking a walk, other than the fact that she didn’t want to. She didn’t even know why she didn’t want to—it was a beautiful, clear, cool day. She and Robby had
Eric Flint, Charles E. Gannon