Kirk nodded. He had a stay-at-home mom. That was good. Unusual. But good.
“How about your dad? What does he do?”
“I don’t know.”
Had Alicia known what her daddy did?
“I don’t know who my dad is.”
With the worst possible timing, a couple of kids came up the street. One on a skateboard, one on in-line skates. Bobby Sanderson and Scott Williams.
Seeing them, Abraham stepped off the curb. He should have called the boy back, warned him to wait until he’d raised the stop sign.
Kirk watched him go instead, hoping the kid showed up at practice that afternoon.
“Hi, guys,” he said, signaling that Bobby and Scott should cross the street. But his mind wasn’t on the loud and rambunctious seventh-graders.
If Abraham Billings didn’t have a father, that probably hadn’t been his dad’s cologne Kirk had smelled.
Fifteen minutes later, Valerie Simms’s Mercedes stopped across the street, farther down than usual.
“Katie, Cassandra, you have orchestra today, I see.” Kirk smiled at the two Japanese-American friends who were standing with him, each toting a violin case.
Looking at each other, they giggled, nodded and, as he signaled, ran across the street, their violin cases banging against their knees.
“Hi, Coach.”
He turned, smiled at the twins, took a quick look at Brian.
“Hi, guys. Sore from practice?”
“I sure am.” Blake grinned, wrinkling his freckle-covered nose.
“Yeah, he’s a lot worse off than I am, Coach,” Brian said, elbowing his twin. “Our legs hurt, but his arms hurt, too.”
“That’s good!” Kirk stepped out into the street. “Your bodies are getting conditioned.”
The boys nodded enthusiastically. “See you this afternoon,” he called.
And then he wondered if he should have. If the twins’ mother had told them they couldn’t be associated with the team, he had to abide by that.
Even if he disagreed with her completely.
But perhaps she’d changed her mind. The boys hadn’t given any indication that they weren’t allowed to play.
“Hi.”
Turning, surprised, Kirk saw the subject of his thoughts. Her presence on his corner explained why she’d stopped the car farther down. She’d actually parked it.
“Good morning,” he said. It was the first morning since the beginning of the school year that he didn’t smile at her. He had a pretty good hunch this wasn’t a smiling moment.
If she was going to capitulate—let the boys play—he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.
Like giving any hint of gloating….
Standing there, watching the kids as they walked up, waited and then crossed when he signaled, the boys’ mother appeared the epitome of patience. He admired that.
“Brian didn’t eat last night.”