much harder.
“Hon, I’ve got my down jacket,” Andy reminded her. “I’d probably wear it anyway if this stuff gets really bad.”
Reba had sat down again on the sofa. “Kids,” she said in a disgruntled voice. “Every year they get worse. All these broken homes. I see it every day at school. Divorce, remarriage, more divorce, live-ins, liquor, dope, and no jobs. I wonder what’s going to become of this generation. It’s pathetic.”
Andy put a skinny arm around his wife’s plump shoulders. “Now, hon, don’t get started on all that.” He gave me an amused look. “Just about this time of year when the first report cards are due, Reba gets really down on the kids. And their parents.”
Reba’s green eyes flashed. “Why shouldn’t I? Everybody blames the teachers for students being so poorly educated. They have no discipline because they aren’t being raised properly at home. It’s not easy being a parent, I know that, but Andy and I’ve tried to raise our children the old-fashioned way, with rules. Too many others are ruined before they ever get to kindergarten. Maybe it’s a good thing Linda didn’t get custody of her daughter. Look at what a mess the poor girl would be in now!”
I didn’t try to suppress my surprise. “Linda was in a custody battle?”
Andy appeared to give Reba a warning nudge, but she wasn’t about to be intimidated. I suspected she never was. “Linda would never confide in anyone, of course. But Marisa Foxx let it slip that she knew Linda.” Reba leaned forward on the sofa, regarding me in a conspiratorial manner. “You must know Marisa—she’s one of the new lawyers in the Doukas firm, and Ibelieve she goes to your church. I got her to join Gut-Busters. She’s marvelous with pasta.”
I recognized Marisa only by sight. She was in her early thirties, and because of her short-cropped hair, long-legged stride, and interest in softball, was rumored to be a lesbian. The only thing I knew about Marisa for certain was that she was very bright and, along with another young lawyer, Jonathan Sibley, had brought in some new clients from along the Highway 2 corridor.
“So what else?” Reba was saying.
Distracted by conjuring up Marisa Foxx, I hadn’t been paying close attention. “What? Ah—you mean the custody fight?”
Reba nodded, both chins waggling. “The divorce was final a long time ago, there was no haggling over money because they didn’t have any, and Howie has remarried. What could Linda have wanted but custody? And why didn’t she get it in the first place?” She turned to Andy, chins jutting. Reba looked as if she’d scored a tie-breaking point.
“Don’t ask me, hon.” Andy was perfectly amiable. “Linda wasn’t the type to blab all her personal stuff around the bank. I’m not complaining. Over the years, we’ve had some personnel who didn’t know when to shut up. Mostly women, and especially the younger ones, like Denise Petersen. No offense,” he added hastily, lest Reba and I gang up and snap him in two like a twig.
Being neither young nor a Petersen, I wasn’t offended. I’d been exposed to Carla and Ginny all week. Ginny had moped around the office in comparative silence, but Carla had voiced her sufferings to anyone who would listen, including the Federal Express driver, the Audit Bureau of Circulation representative, and any poor soul who brought in a news release. I understoodAndy’s gripe. I also knew it was time to take my leave. The only news value in the near-miss incident was for Vida’s “Scene.” I asked Andy if he would mind being included in next week’s column. Usually we don’t request permission, but I try not to hurt anyone’s dignity. And Andy, after all, was an extension of Marv Petersen’s dignified image.
“Heck no,” Andy replied as he and Reba accompanied me to the door. “Maybe somebody else saw what happened. I doubt it, though. I couldn’t see a foot in front of me in that blasted fog.”
I,
“Hon, I’ve got my down jacket,” Andy reminded her. “I’d probably wear it anyway if this stuff gets really bad.”
Reba had sat down again on the sofa. “Kids,” she said in a disgruntled voice. “Every year they get worse. All these broken homes. I see it every day at school. Divorce, remarriage, more divorce, live-ins, liquor, dope, and no jobs. I wonder what’s going to become of this generation. It’s pathetic.”
Andy put a skinny arm around his wife’s plump shoulders. “Now, hon, don’t get started on all that.” He gave me an amused look. “Just about this time of year when the first report cards are due, Reba gets really down on the kids. And their parents.”
Reba’s green eyes flashed. “Why shouldn’t I? Everybody blames the teachers for students being so poorly educated. They have no discipline because they aren’t being raised properly at home. It’s not easy being a parent, I know that, but Andy and I’ve tried to raise our children the old-fashioned way, with rules. Too many others are ruined before they ever get to kindergarten. Maybe it’s a good thing Linda didn’t get custody of her daughter. Look at what a mess the poor girl would be in now!”
I didn’t try to suppress my surprise. “Linda was in a custody battle?”
Andy appeared to give Reba a warning nudge, but she wasn’t about to be intimidated. I suspected she never was. “Linda would never confide in anyone, of course. But Marisa Foxx let it slip that she knew Linda.” Reba leaned forward on the sofa, regarding me in a conspiratorial manner. “You must know Marisa—she’s one of the new lawyers in the Doukas firm, and Ibelieve she goes to your church. I got her to join Gut-Busters. She’s marvelous with pasta.”
I recognized Marisa only by sight. She was in her early thirties, and because of her short-cropped hair, long-legged stride, and interest in softball, was rumored to be a lesbian. The only thing I knew about Marisa for certain was that she was very bright and, along with another young lawyer, Jonathan Sibley, had brought in some new clients from along the Highway 2 corridor.
“So what else?” Reba was saying.
Distracted by conjuring up Marisa Foxx, I hadn’t been paying close attention. “What? Ah—you mean the custody fight?”
Reba nodded, both chins waggling. “The divorce was final a long time ago, there was no haggling over money because they didn’t have any, and Howie has remarried. What could Linda have wanted but custody? And why didn’t she get it in the first place?” She turned to Andy, chins jutting. Reba looked as if she’d scored a tie-breaking point.
“Don’t ask me, hon.” Andy was perfectly amiable. “Linda wasn’t the type to blab all her personal stuff around the bank. I’m not complaining. Over the years, we’ve had some personnel who didn’t know when to shut up. Mostly women, and especially the younger ones, like Denise Petersen. No offense,” he added hastily, lest Reba and I gang up and snap him in two like a twig.
Being neither young nor a Petersen, I wasn’t offended. I’d been exposed to Carla and Ginny all week. Ginny had moped around the office in comparative silence, but Carla had voiced her sufferings to anyone who would listen, including the Federal Express driver, the Audit Bureau of Circulation representative, and any poor soul who brought in a news release. I understoodAndy’s gripe. I also knew it was time to take my leave. The only news value in the near-miss incident was for Vida’s “Scene.” I asked Andy if he would mind being included in next week’s column. Usually we don’t request permission, but I try not to hurt anyone’s dignity. And Andy, after all, was an extension of Marv Petersen’s dignified image.
“Heck no,” Andy replied as he and Reba accompanied me to the door. “Maybe somebody else saw what happened. I doubt it, though. I couldn’t see a foot in front of me in that blasted fog.”
I,
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