Home to Hart's Crossing by Robin Lee Hatcher Page B

overdo it and hurt yourself with all that unpacking. Ask for help or hire somebody if you need to.
    The kids returned to school a month ago, and now everybody’s going a different direction several nights a week. I remember how we always had family dinners together when I was a boy, and I’m wondering how you and Mom managed that. It seems like half the time at my house, nobody’s home at the dinner hour, let alone sitting down to eat together.
    Give us a call or respond to this email when you can. Sure hope you’re not regretting your decision to move.
    Kurt
    * * *
    From: “James Scott” [email protected]
    Sent: Saturday, September 24 10:32 AM
    To: “Kurt & Neta” [email protected]
    Subject: Re: Online yet?

    Good morning, Kurt. My telephone service was finally up and working as of 4:45 p.m. yesterday. My number is 208-555-4632. I set up my trusty computer in my boyhood bedroom, which is now serving as my office. This is the first time I’ve turned it on, so I’m glad to see it’s working. The worst of the unpacking is done, and except for a few minor aches and pains (which could be my age more than anything else), I’m feeling fine. You don’t have to worry about me. I still have a modicum of good sense in this head of mine.
    I had lunch today with two old friends. I haven’t seen either of them in more than twenty years. Even when your grandmother was still living in Hart’s Crossing, our paths didn’t cross much. As you might guess, we had a lot of catching up to do. We did a fair share of reminiscing about the “good old days.”
    I’d planned to go to a movie later today, but I was invited to see the local high school football team—the Hart’s Crossing Hornets—play against one of its biggest rivals, the Sawtooth Pioneers. (They were rivals fifty years ago, too. Some things never change.) Since the weather is good, I thought I’d do that. Go, Hornets!
    I’ll call you soon.
    Love, Dad
    * * *
    Stephanie was not a huge fan of football, but she was a huge fan of her grandson, Foster. This was his first at-home game as part of the senior varsity football team. There was no way she would miss seeing him play today, short of a blizzard in September. Judging by the clear blue sky overhead and the warm breeze rustling the trees in her front yard, she needn’t fear snow.
    When the doorbell rang a few minutes before noon, Stephanie grabbed her jacket, lap blanket, and purse on her way to answer it.
    The door opened before she got there. “It’s me, Grandma,” Isabella called. “Are you ready?”
    “I’m ready, dear.” She received her seventeen-year-old granddaughter’s quick hug and peck on the cheek. “Are your parents with you?”
    “No. Mom had some work to do at the office. She said she’ll meet us at the school before the game starts, but I wouldn’t bet on it. You know how she forgets everything else when she’s working.” She gave a little shrug, as if denying the disappointment in her voice. “Dad’s helping with the concessions, so he went early with Foster.”
    Stephanie and Isabella stepped onto the porch, and Stephanie pulled the front door closed behind her, pausing to be sure it was locked.
    “I like your jogging suit, Grandma. That blue matches your eyes. Where’d you get it?”
    “From the Coldwater Creek catalog.”
    They walked to the curb, where Isabella had parked her Subaru Outback.
    “Dear,” Stephanie said as she opened the passenger side door, “I hope you don’t mind, but I offered to pick up an old friend of mine. He’s just returned to Hart’s Crossing, and I invited him to come see Foster play.”
    “No trouble.” Isabella slipped into the driver’s seat. “Where does he live?”
    “On Horizon Street.”
    “I can get there off of Pine, right?”
    “Yes.” Stephanie fastened her seat belt. “That would be the best route to take.”
    Isabella turned the key in the ignition, glanced over her left shoulder, then pulled away from the curb.