Autumn Blue (19 page)

“That was a long time ago. It’s what our families did—about all they could do when they came up from Mexico, not speaking
English. But God bless America, nobody held a gun to our heads and made us stay on our knees, cutting cabbage for the rest
of our lives.”

A couple of birds twittered and flapped in a cage suspended from a stand behind Amilia’s head. Sidney watched as they scattered
seeds through the cage bars onto the large, worn area rug. “Pretty birds,” Sidney said. They were smaller than robins, with
smooth, honeydew green bodies and peach-colored heads. “What kind are they?”

“Lovebirds. Kate and Spencer, after Hepburn and Tracy. I love old movies.”

Sidney had been anxious at first. This was the woman that Ty supposedly burglarized, though he still denied stealing a thing
from her. There were sparks of animosity crackling in the air out there on the front porch, her girls were waiting in the
car, and it was time to meet Jack. But for some reason she wanted to linger. There was something about this woman that Sidney
wanted to explore. She stood, glancing out the front window. Sissy was hanging out the car window now, dragging one end of
her long knit scarf back and forth on the ground.

Alex Estrada glanced up from his work, and their eyes met. His darted away, and at that instant his hammer came down on his
thumb. They heard a loud expletive. A giggle escaped unexpectedly from Sidney’s throat. She spun back toward her hostess,
pushing the laughter back with a hand over her mouth.

Amilia raised her brows in question.

Sidney let out a roll of laughter. “I’m sorry. The deputy—Alex just hammered his thumb.”

The older woman looked delighted. “Did he? Well, I think I’d better bring him chocolate. That used to be all he needed to
fix his hurts. Chocolate raisins were his favorite.” She rummaged through a basket under the table by her chair, producing
a handful of wrapped chocolate candies. “This is the best I can do right now. Leftover from Easter.” She made no attempt to
get up, but stretched out her hand until Sidney took the candies from her. “You tell those boys that Amilia said it’s time
for a lunch break.”

“Amilia, could I come back and visit you sometime?”

Amilia grinned. “I’d like that. Next time, you let me know you’re coming and I’ll make tamales.”

She got Amilia’s phone number, leaving her own with an offer to run errands for the handicapped woman, and they said their
good-byes.

Out on the porch, Sidney was surprised to see that the pounding sounds were being made by Tyson now. Alex pushed a two-by-four
through a whining saw blade, holding a flat pencil between his lips. “Wow. Look what you guys have done!” Tyson glanced up
slightly, then went back to hammering. He was trying, she realized, to duplicate the deputy’s rhythm, one-two, one-two. She
had been hearing it for the past ten minutes. Two hard strokes and the nail was home. Ty averaged four strokes, but when he
sunk one in only three without bending it, his jaw softened and he looked up as if to make sure she noticed. She smiled proudly,
then stepped down to where Alex stood, holding out her handful of stale chocolate. “For your boo-boo.” She tried to keep a
straight face. “Amilia says it’s time for lunch.”

Alex Estrada stood to his full height and took a deep breath, studying her. He had seen her laugh; she was sure of it. “I
can only imagine what else Amilia said.”

Sidney smirked as she placed the candies in his open hand. “I’ll never tell.”

H
ALFWAY THROUGH
the peewee football game, it began to rain. Not the usual drizzle that Sidney was accustomed to, but shafts of steel shooting
down from the heavens like a barrage of medieval spears. Jack blew a whistle and with a violent throwing motion of his arm
sent the entire field of mini football players scurrying toward the parking lot. Sidney and the girls scrambled down from
the small bleachers, laughing and dashing with the rest of the crowd toward the protective cover of their vehicles. The black
sky above them made a blanket statement: the game was called.

The girls piled into the backseat of her car. Sidney watched through the streams of water on the windshield for Jack, using
a napkin from the glove box to blot her face. “Mom, look at my pom-poms. They’re ruined!” Rebecca dropped her wet head against
the back of the seat with a dramatic sigh.

Sissy waved her feather dusters. “Too bad you don’t have some of these.” She glanced down at the clumps of wet crepe in her
sister’s lap and then brushed her legs with her wet yellow feathers. “But mine don’t paint.”

That comment made Sidney take a second look over her shoulder.

“Oh, no!” Rebecca wailed. Just as Sidney had suspected, the red dye in the pom-poms had bled into Rebecca’s pale blue jacket
and pants. “Mom, will it come out?” she whined.

The rain pounded on the car roof like hail. Sidney tried to peer through the downpour. Where was he? How long could it take
to gather up a football? Surely Jack wasn’t standing out there in the torrent discussing the game with the other coach. “Sissy,
take your things out of that plastic bag and put those pom-poms in it before they touch anything else. Becca, stop pouting.
You don’t even like that jacket, remember?” Both girls looked like half-drowned cats. She pulled the visor down to look at
herself. Her mascara had run, and her hair lay flat and dark, dripping like syrup from her head.

The knock on her window startled her. Water poured down Jack’s forehead and cheeks. She cranked the window open, laughing
at the sight of him. “Hey,” he said. “A bunch of us are going to meet at Jimmy’s for pizza. Do you want to go in my car?”

She remembered that Ty was due back at about three and she would have to be home. Hopefully they had enough work to do under
the cover of Amilia’s porch roof to keep busy until then. “We’ll meet you there.”

He peered in at the girls, grinning, and slapped the car door. “Okay. See you there.”

She watched him dash to his dark SUV and followed him for three blocks. Jimmy’s Pizza was attached to the three-lane bowling
alley on the west end of town. They parked around back, darting inside and heading straight for the circular fireplace in
a sunken area in the middle of the restaurant. They were in luck. Some people who had been sitting by the crackling fire were
just getting up. Sidney peeled off her wet jacket, running her hands through her wet hair. “Girls, hang your jackets on the
coatrack to dry.” She smiled at Jack. “I’ll be right back.”

In the restroom she wiped the mascara smudges from her eyes, ran a comb through her hair, and applied lip gloss. Another young
woman slid in next to her, leaning over the sink to paint her full lips a deep rose. “I saw you at the game,” she said, blotting
her lips on a paper towel. “Aren’t you Tyson Walker’s mom?”

Sidney smiled. “Yes, I am.”

The woman raised her eyebrows. “I heard all about what happened. God, you poor woman! I don’t know what I’d do if one of my
kids went off the edge like that. Luckily my boys don’t have a mean streak in them.” She shook her head. “They’re both as
good as gold. I hear you feel a lot safer now that he’s in jail.”

“Oh, really? Who told you that?”

She scoffed. “Well, who knows who told me first? This is Ham Bone, for God’s sake.” She put on a sympathetic expression. “How
much time did he get?”

“My name is Sidney Walker.” She didn’t offer her hand. “What’s yours?”

“Oh.” She looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Patty Polanski.”

“Well, Patty,” Sidney said as she zipped her purse closed and headed for the door. “See you around.”

Jack had saved her a chair next to him. The place buzzed with voices; kids whose spirits were not dampened by the rain begged
their parents for quarters to play the video games in the back corner of the restaurant, and as always there was the distant
sound of bowling balls striking pins in the alley next door. “What’s wrong?” Jack said.

She tried to shake it off. It didn’t matter what people said. She inhaled deeply, willing her face to soften. “It smells wonderful
in here, and we got the coveted chairs by the fire where we can warm our toes. What could be wrong?”

Jack grinned. His blond hair had recently been buzzed down to about a quarter inch all the way around. The jock look. “Always
the optimist. I ordered a veggie pizza for you and the girls.” Sissy and Rebecca, along with a couple of friends from school,
were revolving their bodies in front of the fire across from them like chickens roasting on a rotisserie. “I can’t believe
how big the girls are. Sissy was missing her front teeth the last time I saw her.”

“She’s almost eight now; Becca’s ten.”

“How are they at soccer?”

“Sissy is pretty good. That girl has no fear, and she’s as tenacious as a terrier after a rat. Becca could be better if she
wasn’t so afraid of getting muddy.”

He shook his head with a frown. “That’s not good.”

She chortled and slapped his leg. “Don’t get all in a tizzy. There’s more to life than sports, you know.”

“Like what?”

“Well, drama, for one thing. I’ll bet you anything we’ll see Becca parading across our TV screen some day.”
Our
TV screen. She hadn’t meant it to sound like that. This was only their second date, after all, if one could qualify it as
a date when she had driven her own car and had her girls in tow.

He shrugged his stocky shoulders. “Well, what if she stars in a movie about a soccer player? She’s going to have to know all
the moves to be convincing. You can’t fake skill.”

Sidney leaned toward his face, which was rosy from the weather and the fire. His blue eyes were like ice in contrast. She
could feel the warm glow emanating from her own skin. “Thank God for doubles, or stunt women, whatever you call them,” she
said. “I don’t care if my kids win any trophies. All I care about is that they have fun.”

He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “You still don’t have a competitive bone in your body.” It was not meant as a compliment.
A number was called from the service counter and he stood. “Number nineteen. That’s us.” He bent toward her face, placing
his hands on the little table next to her. “Winning isn’t everything, green-eyed lady, but if you’re not doing it, you’re
the loser.” He leaned into her ear, repeating the word in a teasing whisper. “Loser.”

She laughed and smacked his arm. It was as solid as a fire log. “Why don’t you go get those pizzas before they get cold?”

What a perfect way to spend a rainy Saturday afternoon. Sidney kicked off her shoes, propping her stocking feet on the brick
hearth. Within minutes steam began rising from her toes. What was taking Jack so long? She turned and stood to peer over a
planter full of fake ferns behind her. Jack was still up by the counter, two pizza boxes in his arm, talking to, of all people,
Patty Polanski. A nasty feeling ran down Sidney’s backbone. Patty was all smiles, talking to Jack with animated gestures as
if they were longtime friends. She kept touching his arm. Sidney looked at his face. He was definitely into the conversation,
not just waylaid, no furtive glances toward the fireplace where Sidney waited. That little gossip was charming him so skillfully
that even the scent of the pepperoni pizza just below his nose couldn’t lure him away.

Sidney couldn’t bear to watch the pathetic scene. She went back to her seat, returning Rebecca’s wave from where the girls
now sat at a table with friends. Was this a date or not? She had no idea. Jack had asked only if she’d like to come to the
game. So maybe they weren’t even officially
together
here. Should she pay for her own pizza? A thought occurred to her. She stood again for another peek. Patty’s good-as-gold
little boys had joined them, looking up at Jack like he was some star quarterback. And aha! Just as Sidney suspected, their
charming mother was
not
wearing a wedding ring. Sidney saw right through Patty’s little game. She plopped down in her seat again while an uneasiness
seeped like heartburn into her soul. How was she different? Jack was probably every single mother’s dream. She glanced around
the crowded restaurant. How many more of them were out there drooling for the opportunity to share a slice of pizza from his
box?

And then his words came back to her.
You still don’t have a competitive bone in your body. Loser!

She jumped to her feet. Sidney Walker was not a loser! She stepped up the two steps from the sunken fireplace area and walked
directly up to Jack. “Hey, did you get lost?”

“Oh, sorry. Hey, Sidney, this is Patty Polanski”—he gestured then toward each of the boys—“and Jacob and Jason. I was their
coach last year.”

Patty faked a half smile, which Sidney ignored. She smiled down at Patty’s boys. “Was he a good coach?”

“Yeah!” they said simultaneously. “But now he coaches the Dunbar team,” one said.

Patty pushed her stylish brunette hair upward as if to gain volume. “So how do you two know each other?”

“Oh, we go way back,” Jack said, glancing at Sidney. “From when I lived here in town. I guess we met at Graber’s Market, didn’t
we?”

“Yup. You were the produce manager back then.”

“And you were what we called a melon-knocker. Sniffed and squeezed everything.” He turned his head toward Patty. “I had to
watch her like a hawk to keep her from bruising the avocados.”

That brought a deep laugh out of Sidney, partly from embarrassment. There was an element of truth to it. “I do not abuse vegetables.
I like them too much.” She lifted the top of one of the pizza boxes in Jack’s hand. “Speaking of which . . .”

“Yeah, hey, let’s eat. It’s getting cold.” Jack patted the boys’ shoulders. “I’ll see you around, guys. Coach Petrie will
let you know when we play each other again.”

Sidney turned to head back to their seats by the fireplace, glancing over her shoulder, expecting to see Jack on her heels.
Instead she saw Patty stretch out her hand to touch Jack’s arm. Sidney read her lips.
Call me.
She saw the back of Jack’s head drop in a quick nod. He gave Patty a midair salute before walking away.