Family Blessings by LaVyrle Spencer

Author:LaVyrle Spencer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2001-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

LEEand the kids stayed till 6:30 P.M., then Janice said she wanted to get home and change clothes: she, too, was going out with a bunch of friends that night. At home, Joey and Lee changed into sweat suits and turned on the TV while Janice switched on the radio in the bathroom and spent time redoing her makeup and hair. Jane and Sandy came by for her at 8:30, leaving Lee and Joey watching an old rerun of a Waltons Thanksgiving movie.

At 9:15 the doorbell rang.

Lee glanced over at Joey, sprawled on the sofa, and discovered he was sound asleep.

She got up from her chair and went to answer.

Christopher stood on the front step, dressed in uniform, his squad car parked in the driveway behind him with its engine still running and the parking lights on.

She opened the storm door and he held it that way while she stood on the level above him in her sweat suit and slippers.

“I want to talk to you,” he said—no smile, no softness, just a statement of fact. “Could you come out to the car for a minute?”

“Joey is here.”

“Tell him where you’re going and come outside, please.”

“Can’t we talk in the house?”

“No, not with Joey there.”

Suddenly, things inside her began trembling. How indomitable he was to face this head on, far more than she, who had eluded the confrontation in various temporizing ways.

“All right,” she said, “let me get my jacket.” She opened a coatcloset door and called into the living room, “Joey, Christopher is here. I’m going out in the car to talk to him a minute.”

He shifted onto his left side, facing the back of the sofa, and mumbled something while the TV played behind him.

Outside, she preceded Christopher down the walk to his squad car. He opened the passenger door and waited while she got in. Inside it was warm, the heater blowing. A multitude of gear formed a barricade between his half of the seat and hers. A rifle stood barrelup beside her left knee. On the dash a large radio, glowing with red lights, was mounted beside a larger speaker pointed at the driver’s seat. On the seat itself a wooden cup holder was secured in place with space behind it for a bunch of notebooks that were wedged upright. Behind the driver’s seat a glass partition divided the front from the back, while behind her a steel mesh partition did the same.

He got in and slammed the door. On the radio, the county dispatcher’s voice crackled intermittently. He reached up and lowered the volume, then took off his hat and wedged it behind the speaker. Resting his left wrist on top of the steering wheel, he turned to look at her.

After an uncertain stretch of silence they both spoke at once.

“These past few weeks—” he said.

“I’m sorry about—” she said.

They both clipped off their remarks.

She picked up first. “I’m sorry about the Thanksgiving invitation.”

“This isn’t about that. I understand perfectly well why you didn’t call and ask me.

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