be too, I imagine. Probably just another case of West Nile,” Brian predicted, then nodded at the action on the floor. “Getting a little hot out there.”
He was right, Jack thought – elbows were being applied just a little too liberally. “Hey!” He shouted. Shoes shrilled on the floorboards as the action stopped, and ten faces swiveled his way, several of them more flushed than they ought to be. “Don’t make me come out there and whup up on ya’ll! Keep the elbows tight, boys!”
Perfect time for a pastor to sub in, he decided, watching them scuff and grumble. He stood and peeled out of his sweatshirt. Unlike Brian, his thirties hadn’t brought weight problems with them, a fact he owed at least as much to good genetics and these Friday night basketball games as to his eating habits. “Alright, you babies, which one of you wants to get a drink of water and sweet-talk the ladies?”
He jogged onto the court, serenaded by a chorus of giggles from the girls, and slapped the kid with the reddest face on the shoulder. “James, why don’t you take a break and give an old man a chance to play?”
~~~
Naomi dropped the last dish in the drainer and hung her soggy towel on the oven bar to dry. Dinner done, dishes done, and a luxurious Friday night stretched out in front of her. For the most part, she had managed to hold her sense of unease at bay; she hadn’t mentioned the dead woman in Safeway to Scott, and she didn’t intend to. She wasn’t in the habit of keeping secrets from her husband, but she couldn’t see how any good would come out of talking about it. Just a lot of baseless speculation, she had decided. No need to let that into her cozy world this evening.
Scott had headed out to putter at his workbench in the garage, but not before he’d slid his hand slowly and lovingly down her spine and dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck. Naomi smiled. He was consistent, maybe even predictable, but the upside of that was anticipation. Twenty-three years, and that slow smile of his could still rev her up.
Macy had a 4-H project spread out on the kitchen table, and was humming softly to herself as she worked. Her hair seemed to glow in the soft light, a shade exactly between her father’s red and her mother’s blonde, the purest strawberry Naomi had ever seen. She’d once asked a stylist if she could match it – Naomi’s blonde had been maintained in salons for years now – but the stylist had shaken her head. “That color is a gift from the gods,” she’d said. “You’d end up with orange or pink. Better just enjoy it on your daughter.”
And Naomi did, smoothing her hand over her daughter’s shining head, as she had done thousands of times before. Macy was in her second year of sewing, and was piecing together a simple quilt from scraps Naomi had given her. Naomi sat down beside her, and Macy handed her a piece.
“This one?”
Naomi smiled, and fingered the Black Watch plaid. “A shirt I made for daddy when we were first married. The sleeves weren’t quite long enough, but he wore it anyway. He just rolled the sleeves up, even in the dead of winter, and he never said a thing.”
Macy smiled. “That’s just like daddy.” She handed her another scrap, a tiny mint-green gingham check. “This one?”
“A little jumper I made for Piper, when she was just tiny. I made one in every color of gingham they had.” She reached across the table, selected pink, yellow, blue. “I called her my rainbow baby.”
Macy took the piece back, rubbed it between her finger and thumb, then held it to her cheek. “I miss her. I wish she would come home more often.”
“I miss her too, punkin.” In so many ways, Naomi thought. She missed those easy baby years, when she’d been the bright center of Piper’s world, instead of a source of discomfort, strain and
He was right, Jack thought – elbows were being applied just a little too liberally. “Hey!” He shouted. Shoes shrilled on the floorboards as the action stopped, and ten faces swiveled his way, several of them more flushed than they ought to be. “Don’t make me come out there and whup up on ya’ll! Keep the elbows tight, boys!”
Perfect time for a pastor to sub in, he decided, watching them scuff and grumble. He stood and peeled out of his sweatshirt. Unlike Brian, his thirties hadn’t brought weight problems with them, a fact he owed at least as much to good genetics and these Friday night basketball games as to his eating habits. “Alright, you babies, which one of you wants to get a drink of water and sweet-talk the ladies?”
He jogged onto the court, serenaded by a chorus of giggles from the girls, and slapped the kid with the reddest face on the shoulder. “James, why don’t you take a break and give an old man a chance to play?”
~~~
Naomi dropped the last dish in the drainer and hung her soggy towel on the oven bar to dry. Dinner done, dishes done, and a luxurious Friday night stretched out in front of her. For the most part, she had managed to hold her sense of unease at bay; she hadn’t mentioned the dead woman in Safeway to Scott, and she didn’t intend to. She wasn’t in the habit of keeping secrets from her husband, but she couldn’t see how any good would come out of talking about it. Just a lot of baseless speculation, she had decided. No need to let that into her cozy world this evening.
Scott had headed out to putter at his workbench in the garage, but not before he’d slid his hand slowly and lovingly down her spine and dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck. Naomi smiled. He was consistent, maybe even predictable, but the upside of that was anticipation. Twenty-three years, and that slow smile of his could still rev her up.
Macy had a 4-H project spread out on the kitchen table, and was humming softly to herself as she worked. Her hair seemed to glow in the soft light, a shade exactly between her father’s red and her mother’s blonde, the purest strawberry Naomi had ever seen. She’d once asked a stylist if she could match it – Naomi’s blonde had been maintained in salons for years now – but the stylist had shaken her head. “That color is a gift from the gods,” she’d said. “You’d end up with orange or pink. Better just enjoy it on your daughter.”
And Naomi did, smoothing her hand over her daughter’s shining head, as she had done thousands of times before. Macy was in her second year of sewing, and was piecing together a simple quilt from scraps Naomi had given her. Naomi sat down beside her, and Macy handed her a piece.
“This one?”
Naomi smiled, and fingered the Black Watch plaid. “A shirt I made for daddy when we were first married. The sleeves weren’t quite long enough, but he wore it anyway. He just rolled the sleeves up, even in the dead of winter, and he never said a thing.”
Macy smiled. “That’s just like daddy.” She handed her another scrap, a tiny mint-green gingham check. “This one?”
“A little jumper I made for Piper, when she was just tiny. I made one in every color of gingham they had.” She reached across the table, selected pink, yellow, blue. “I called her my rainbow baby.”
Macy took the piece back, rubbed it between her finger and thumb, then held it to her cheek. “I miss her. I wish she would come home more often.”
“I miss her too, punkin.” In so many ways, Naomi thought. She missed those easy baby years, when she’d been the bright center of Piper’s world, instead of a source of discomfort, strain and
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