the second section—‘Former Star Quarterback Dies
Following Knee Surgery.’ There’s not more than two
inches of copy, along with a small picture of Bob that
was taken in his playing days.”
“What?” Renie gaped at Judith. “That’s it?”
“The article only says that the surgery was pronounced successful, his death was unexpected, and he
had been in good health otherwise. There’s a brief
recap of his career, lifetime stats, and how he once
saved two children from a house fire and received an
official commendation from the governor.”
“What about Blanche?” Renie asked.
“I’m looking. I . . .” Judith’s head swiveled away
from the paper as Margie Randall, wearing her blue
volunteer’s jacket, tapped tentatively on the door
frame.
“Hello. May I come in?” Margie inquired in an uncertain voice. Her pale blonde pageboy was limp, and
her delicate features seemed to have sharpened with
grief.
“Of course,” Judith responded. “Mrs. Randall?
We’re very sorry for your loss.”
Margie slid her hands up her sleeves and hugged
herself. “Oh, so am I! How will I manage without darling Bob?”
“I was widowed when I was about your age,” Judith
said kindly.
152
Mary Daheim
on my own two feet.”
“Easy to say.” Margie sighed, taking small, unsteady
steps into the room. “I feel as if my whole world has
fallen apart.”
“You’re working today?” Renie asked, her tone
slightly incredulous.
Slowly, Margie turned to look at Renie, who hadn’t
quite managed to tame her wayward hair. Several
strands were standing up, out, and every which way.
She looked like a doll that had been in a cedar chest too
long.
“Yes,” Margie replied softly. “We couldn’t make the
funeral arrangements until this afternoon because of
the autopsy, so I felt obligated to come in today. I can’t
let my patients and their families down. So many need
cheering. How are you feeling? I wasn’t able to visit
with you yesterday because of . . .” She burst into tears
and struggled to find a Kleenex in her jacket pockets.
“We’re okay,” Renie said in a chipper voice.
