a hundred bucks for tickets and we saw a really rotten
game. Furthermore, I don’t like Margie Randall blaming Bill for her Sad Sack state. I’ll bet I’m right, she
enjoys being miserable.”
“That’s not the point,” Judith said. “You were rude,
even mean. The poor guy just lost his brother, he’s got
his own health problems, and now he’s saddled with
two very unfortunate young people and a sister-in-law
who’s an emotional wreck.” Judith pointed to the
statue of Mary and the baby Jesus. “You’re in a Christian hospital. How about a little charity?”
Renie let out a big sigh. “Okay, okay. So I was kind
of blunt with Jim. I suppose I’m feeling sorry for myself, for you, too, and wondering how many more of
these procedures and surgeries and operations we’ll
have to have before they carry us out like Bob Randall.
If, like Margie Randall, I were inclined to depression,
I’d be in about a forty-foot hole by now.”
Judith was quiet for a few moments, considering
Renie’s words. “You’re right, this isn’t one of our
brightest moments. But we can still act like decent
112
Mary Daheim
human beings, especially to people who are in a worse
mess than we are.”
“Yeah, right.” Renie flipped open the top of a can of
Pepsi. “I told you, even though I know Bob Randall
was the best quarterback ever to play for the Sea Auks,
I simply never saw him give one of his better performances. I guess I had that one lousy game all bottled up
inside for the past twenty-odd years. And,” she went
on, gathering steam and wagging a finger, “I
know why the coach didn’t pull Randall and put in his
backup. Maybe Bob was sick, but if that had been the
case, he should have come out of the game. No wonder the second-stringer quit football and went to medical school.”
“He did?” Judith eyed Renie curiously. “Who was he?”
Renie shook her head. “I forget. It was a name like
that quarterback from the Rams a million years ago.”
She took a big sip of Pepsi and choked.
“Coz,” Judith said in alarm, “are you okay?”
Renie sputtered, coughed, and waved her arms.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Give me a minute.” Getting herself under control, she stared at Judith. “I
the guy’s name. It was Jan Van Boeck. I guess,” Renie
said slowly, “I remembered Norm Van Brocklin, but I
got him mixed up with Bill Van Bredakoff, who played
basketball, not football. Anyway, Van Boeck’s name
suddenly came to me after all these years. I never made
the connection before. He played so seldom for the
Auks.”
“I suppose I’m dreaming,” Judith said, fingering her
chin. “But what if Dr. Van Boeck has been jealous of
Bob Randall all these years? What if he blamed him
