“You have a lot of nerve, talking like that,” said Nolan. “You haven’t exactly been working for the environment for free, have you? What do you make as director? Fifty, sixty thousand? You know what the average Metinnicut income is? It’s under the poverty line. Being environmentalists hasn’t been quite as profitable for us as it has for you.”
Franke glared at him, facing off. Lucy fully expected them to come to blows. Then, suddenly, Franke turned and stalked off.
Nolan laughed, then sat down. He looked at Lucy, who was standing speechless, coffeepot in hand.
“How about some more of that coffee?” he asked, giving her a big grin.
“Sure thing,” she said, wasting no time in filling his cup.
* * *
Lucy stayed until the last cup had been washed and put away, the tables wiped, and the chairs neatly stacked in a corner. Then she bought her pies, said good-bye to Pam, and headed over to the football field to meet the girls. Remembering the trouble she’d had finding a parking spot last year, she put her pies in the car and left it at the church parking lot, walking the few blocks to the high school.
As she walked down the tree-lined street, where bare limbs reached up to the blank gray sky, she wondered what made Curt Nolan tick. He’d only gotten out of jail that morning and he had been arraigned on assault-and-battery charges, yet only a few hours later, he almost got in a fight with Jonathan Franke. He seemed nice enough, she thought, admitting to herself that she actually found him rather likable. But he always seemed to be involved in some kind of confrontation. In fact, he seemed to make a habit of provoking and angering people. Why did he do it? What satisfaction could he possibly get out of it? It seemed a terrible waste of energy to her, an exhausting way to go through life.
Stopping at the corner to let a car go by before she crossed the street, she realized how tired she was. No wonder. She’d gotten only a few hours of sleep; then she’d spent the morning baking pies and working on her story. Then there’d been the stress-filled hour or two at the Pennysaver office, the rush home to cook for Toby and his friends, topped off by the pie sale, where she’d spent a couple of hours on her feet running around with the coffeepot.
Maybe Nolan had it right, she thought, trudging up the hill to the field and keeping an eye out for the girls. Maybe it was her way, trying to please everybody, that was exhausting. Maybe she ought to tell Ted to cover meetings himself if he wasn’t happy with the way she did it, and maybe Toby needed to understand he couldn’t be quite so inconsiderate and maybe Bill could cook Thanksgiving dinner for the Barths himself if he was so keen on inviting them. And what gave those girls, Toby’s friends, the right to be vegans? The way she was brought up, you took what you were offered and said thank you.
“Mom! Mom!”
Lucy looked up and saw Sara standing by the gate, holding on to Zoe’s hand.
“Are you okay, Mom?” asked Sara.
“Sure. Why?”
“You looked kind of worried.”
“You looked mad,” volunteered Zoe.
Lucy laughed. “I guess I am kind of tired.”
“Toby was late.” Zoe’s little face was serious.
Lucy thought for a minute. “You haven’t seen him yet, have you?”
“Nope.”
“Me either,” added Sara.
“Well, maybe we’ll see him here. He said he was coming.”
There were so many people on the field, however, that Lucy soon gave up looking for him. Instead, she led the girls to the top of the grandstand, where they could get a bird’s-eye view of everything.
They had just sat down when the high school band could be heard approaching. Rapt with excitement, Zoe stood up and clapped enthusiastically when the band members finally appeared in their red uniforms with brass buttons.
As usual, they were playing out of key and several members were straggling behind, finding it difficult to keep in step while playing an instrument. Finally, they formed a loose rectangle on the field and waited while the drum major climbed onto an elevated platform. He raised his baton and the band responded with a blast of sound; he lowered the baton and they began rearranging themselves, finally resting in a ragged zigzag.
“What is it, Mom? What is it?” demanded Zoe.
Lucy frowned and furrowed her brow. After a moment, enlightenment came. “It’s a W for Warriors.”
“That’s not a W,” insisted Zoe.
“I think it’s supposed to be a W.”
“If you say so, Mom.”
The drum major raised both arms dramatically, the final chord rang out, and everybody clapped like mad as the cheerleaders ran onto the field.
“Look, Zoe. It’s the cheerleaders. Aren’t their outfits cute?”
Zoe was enraptured. Lucy guessed she was picturing herself in a red-and-white cheerleader’s skirt.
“What are they holding?”
“Pom-poms.”
“Can I get one?”
“I don’t know where you get them.”
“You have to be a cheerleader,” said Sara.
Zoe’s face fell.
“Maybe we can make some,” Lucy said, “out of crepe paper or something.”
“I’ll help,” promised Zoe.
“We’ll see,” said Lucy.
“Give me a W,” yelled the cheerleaders.
“W!” yelled back the crowd.
The cheer finally ended with everybody screaming, “Warriors! Warriors! Warriors!”
The band played a drumroll and all eyes went to the end of the field, where two girls dressed in fringed deerskin dresses were holding a large paper hoop. The band began playing the Warriors’ fight song and the crowd roared as quarterback Zeke Kirwan broke through the paper circle, followed by the other members of the team. They ran down the field and formed a circle around a big pile of wood that had been stacked at the opposite end of the field.
The music finally stopped playing and everyone was silent, waiting for the big moment. They were rewarded with the sight of the two girls in Indian dress holding torches, escorting team captain Chris White, who was carrying
