The boys were in school—Jason having driven them in a used Toyota truck she’d picked up for a reasonable price. She had the house to herself, and she was cooking for two clients tomorrow, so it would be a nice payday.
Remembering she needed a different spool of thread, she went into the bedroom where she kept her sewing things in the closet. As she rifled around for what she needed, the phone rang.
She’d had a land line installed for the Internet, the old wall phones still in place and now working. The boys thought it barbaric that she didn’t buy a cordless, but the three-prong jacks for the corded phones would have to be converted, and she thought they lent a nice touch as is.
“Hello?” she said into the receiver, the handset heavy.
“Mrs. Carpenter, this is Mr. Summers, the principal at your son’s school.”
Principal. School.
Dread worked up Lucy’s spine. Not again. Please, no.
“I’m calling about an incident we had today during break.”
Lucy felt sick to her stomach.
“Your son and a few other boys were discovered out in the parking lot—”
—smoking marijuana—
“—with a box of tarantulas.”
The ringing in Lucy’s ears ceased. “Excuse me?”
“They were in the back by the Dumpster and betting money to see whose tarantula would kill the others.”
“What?” Lucy blurted, not able to connect the dots. What was Jason doing with tarantulas?
“Nobody got hurt, and from what our science teacher told us, a tarantula sting is no worse than that of a bee’s.” The principal went on in a half-amused voice, almost as if he were reflecting on an old schoolboy prank he’d once done. “I’ve seen a lot of things, but this was a first. We’re making all of the boys stay after school with desk-cleaning detention. Just wanted to let you know.”
Relief pooled in Lucy. Thank goodness it was nothing more than this, and if she allowed herself, there was a warped humor in the whole thing. Tarantula fights? A total boy thing that she would never understand, but it did give her a smile. “I do appreciate the call,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’ll talk to Jason when he gets home.”
The line grew quiet, then he said, “Ms. Carpenter, I’m Mr. Summers at the middle school. I’m calling about your son Matthew.”
“Mattie?” Lucy exhaled a huff of breath, then a delayed laugh. “Oh, I just assumed…” She let the thought trail, her laughter increasing. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…never mind.”
Some days, she just never knew what was going to happen, and this was one of them. She’d take tarantulas over pot any day. An astonishing sense of fulfillment washed over her. She’d come a long way. So had the boys.
They were all going to be okay.
After hanging up, Lucy remembered the thread, but the phone rang once more.
“Hello?”
“Hey, babe.” Drew’s voice warmed her to the core. “What are you doing?”
Lucy loved it when he called, loved hearing the sound of his voice. She sat on the floor and settled in to talk to him. “Just thinking about how great my life is.” She lay on the hardwood, propped her slippered feet on the wall and stretched the phone cord through her fingers. “It feels good to have it back.”
Epilogue
As far as Roger Lewis was concerned, Opal had the best set of gams on a woman he’d ever seen. They were as thin as twigs, but they had a real shape to them that he admired. They’d been going out for three weeks now, and he was after her flirty-girl trail like a bloodhound on a scent.
If he believed the rumors, they were engaged. Roger couldn’t go that far, but as he leaned back on his bar stool to watch his gal head on over, the thought did pop into his head. He had been waiting a long time to nail her.
“Hey, Rog,” she said, settling a smooch on his mouth right in front of everyone.
“Hey, Opal.”
“The day I’ve had. Ada let loose on me that if Drew brings her any more biscuits, she’s going to kill me.” Opal parked her behind on a stool. “She’s gained ten pounds on the South Beach.”
Raul rolled his beady eyes. The new couple were nauseating, ruining his appetite for what was already bad buffalo wings.
“And they call this bleu cheez dip?” he complained, poking a wing tip into the white puddle of dressing.
“You ought to cook for High Country, Raul.” Clyde made the suggestion. “Give this lounge some class.”
“I don’ cook for no restaurants. The Raul is a private chef and the number one best cook in all of Timberline. I always will be and don’ you forget it.” Cocky arrogance marked his tone, but the truth was the truth.
Although Raul would never admit it to anyone, Lucy Carpenters was very talented when it came to culinary expertise. After Spin’s funeral, Lucy and he had formed a kind of respectful thing for each other’s chef business. That wasn’t to say the Raul didn’t retain his mythological status in town, because he had savvy and looks—he just glanced the other way now and then and let Lucy shine.
Lloyd Zaragoza scooped a big wad of blue cheese onto his hot wing and munched the skin right off the bone. “Mighty good eats. Did I tell you that I heard some news about Jacquie Santini the other day?”
All eyes leveled on him.
“She got married. To that lawyer fella. Morris Leonard.”
Opal lit an unfiltered, blew the smoke away from the group. “He was related to Spin, wasn’t he?”
“Great-cousin three times removed,” Clyde stated.
“I thought he was her nephew,” Roger said.
“Who the hell cares?” Lloyd grumbled. “I’m trying to tell you a story.” In between licking his fingers, he related, “So anyway, this is what I heard. She married that Leonard guy and opened up her own real estate company in Boise—Santini Properties.”
“It sounds like a magic show,” Raul suggested.
“That
