ran.
Peyton needed four steps to reach the bathroom door, which the girl threw in her face. She pushed the door open and closed in near the counter but got caught at the front door. Someone was entering. She had to turn sideways to bypass them.
“Hey, Peyton.” He grabbed her arm. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
Instinctively, her balled fist flashed up before she recognized the voice. “Not now,” she told her ex-husband and ran outside.
But the interruption was enough.
She stopped on the sidewalk and looked in both directions. The girl was gone. Twenty minutes later, she still couldn’t be found.
If Peyton had located the girl, she might not have felt so bone-tired when she walked through the front door of her mother’s house Tuesday at 6:30 a.m.
She hung her coat in the closet and untied her boots. Her mind raced. Elise’s announcement, Darrel Shaley’s sick wife, and she’d lost the same girl twice in twelve hours.
The kitchen light was on. She heard Lois’s spirited-but-off-key rendition of “New York, New York.” Lois’s Edith Bunker falsetto brought a weary smile to her face, as she trudged to the kitchen, where the indoor/outdoor thermometer read 61/29.
Lois raised the coffeepot. “You look exhausted. Go to bed. I’ll get Tommy up and wait for the bus with him.”
“I’m fine,” Peyton said and watched as Lois turned back to the counter, poured a cup, carefully measured two spoonfuls of sugar, added one of cream, and stirred.
Peyton had never known another soul who made coffee so meticulously. Then again, she’d spent her entire career in law enforcement, where strong coffee, regardless of taste, was considered a delicacy.
“That apple crisp I smell?”
Lois smiled. “That’s why I’ll miss you living here when you and Tommy get your own place—your healthy appetite.”
“Thanks a lot, Mom.”
“What did I say?” Lois was genuinely confused. “Hey, I’m making Tommy a good, old-fashioned farm breakfast.”
“Steak and eggs?”
“And home fries.”
“Mom, he doesn’t usually eat much before school. Just a little cereal.”
“Cereal? That’s not enough.”
“How about some fruit and cereal?” Peyton said, but she knew it was no use. Lois wasn’t changing. Peyton had added a sixth day to her weekly running regimen to counter Lois’s pot roasts, coffeecakes, and Sunday dinners.
Two deep pans were on the counter. Lois was baking bread this morning.
“When you do buy a house,” Lois said. “I’ll miss your company, too, sweetie.”
“We’ll be in the same town, Mom.”
“I know that, and I know you need your own space.” Lois started toward the fridge but paused. “Something on your mind? Look like you’re carrying the weight of the world. Let me pour you some coffee. We can sit and talk. I can make you ployes. ” Lois turned back to the counter, opened a glass cupboard, and took down a cup.
“No, Mom. I’m just really tired.” Only a partial lie. No way she was sitting across the kitchen table from her mother, saying what was on her mind. Elise could explain that, thank you very much. She hoped like hell Ellie told their mom soon. Her mother possessed a maternal instinct to know when her girls were hiding something.
As if on cue, Lois said, “Did your sister reach you? She called sounding upset.”
Nod.
“She did reach you?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“We met for coffee,” Peyton said.
“Everything okay?”
“Sure, Mom, fine.”
Lois looked at her, eyes narrowing. It was the same look she’d given Peyton during the Parents’ Weekend of Peyton’s senior year at the University of Maine in Orono. That Friday night, she and Jeff had sneaked the underaged freshman Elise into a bar in Bangor. Next morning, Elise passed on breakfast with Lois and Peyton, who’d also woken with mysterious flulike symptoms. On that day, Lois had stared across the breakfast table at Peyton, eyes narrowed, as they were now.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Lois
Peyton needed four steps to reach the bathroom door, which the girl threw in her face. She pushed the door open and closed in near the counter but got caught at the front door. Someone was entering. She had to turn sideways to bypass them.
“Hey, Peyton.” He grabbed her arm. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
Instinctively, her balled fist flashed up before she recognized the voice. “Not now,” she told her ex-husband and ran outside.
But the interruption was enough.
She stopped on the sidewalk and looked in both directions. The girl was gone. Twenty minutes later, she still couldn’t be found.
If Peyton had located the girl, she might not have felt so bone-tired when she walked through the front door of her mother’s house Tuesday at 6:30 a.m.
She hung her coat in the closet and untied her boots. Her mind raced. Elise’s announcement, Darrel Shaley’s sick wife, and she’d lost the same girl twice in twelve hours.
The kitchen light was on. She heard Lois’s spirited-but-off-key rendition of “New York, New York.” Lois’s Edith Bunker falsetto brought a weary smile to her face, as she trudged to the kitchen, where the indoor/outdoor thermometer read 61/29.
Lois raised the coffeepot. “You look exhausted. Go to bed. I’ll get Tommy up and wait for the bus with him.”
“I’m fine,” Peyton said and watched as Lois turned back to the counter, poured a cup, carefully measured two spoonfuls of sugar, added one of cream, and stirred.
Peyton had never known another soul who made coffee so meticulously. Then again, she’d spent her entire career in law enforcement, where strong coffee, regardless of taste, was considered a delicacy.
“That apple crisp I smell?”
Lois smiled. “That’s why I’ll miss you living here when you and Tommy get your own place—your healthy appetite.”
“Thanks a lot, Mom.”
“What did I say?” Lois was genuinely confused. “Hey, I’m making Tommy a good, old-fashioned farm breakfast.”
“Steak and eggs?”
“And home fries.”
“Mom, he doesn’t usually eat much before school. Just a little cereal.”
“Cereal? That’s not enough.”
“How about some fruit and cereal?” Peyton said, but she knew it was no use. Lois wasn’t changing. Peyton had added a sixth day to her weekly running regimen to counter Lois’s pot roasts, coffeecakes, and Sunday dinners.
Two deep pans were on the counter. Lois was baking bread this morning.
“When you do buy a house,” Lois said. “I’ll miss your company, too, sweetie.”
“We’ll be in the same town, Mom.”
“I know that, and I know you need your own space.” Lois started toward the fridge but paused. “Something on your mind? Look like you’re carrying the weight of the world. Let me pour you some coffee. We can sit and talk. I can make you ployes. ” Lois turned back to the counter, opened a glass cupboard, and took down a cup.
“No, Mom. I’m just really tired.” Only a partial lie. No way she was sitting across the kitchen table from her mother, saying what was on her mind. Elise could explain that, thank you very much. She hoped like hell Ellie told their mom soon. Her mother possessed a maternal instinct to know when her girls were hiding something.
As if on cue, Lois said, “Did your sister reach you? She called sounding upset.”
Nod.
“She did reach you?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“We met for coffee,” Peyton said.
“Everything okay?”
“Sure, Mom, fine.”
Lois looked at her, eyes narrowing. It was the same look she’d given Peyton during the Parents’ Weekend of Peyton’s senior year at the University of Maine in Orono. That Friday night, she and Jeff had sneaked the underaged freshman Elise into a bar in Bangor. Next morning, Elise passed on breakfast with Lois and Peyton, who’d also woken with mysterious flulike symptoms. On that day, Lois had stared across the breakfast table at Peyton, eyes narrowed, as they were now.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Lois
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