Another year.
That made me sit up a little straighter in Sandy’s chair. Time doesn’t fly, but it will strap on rocket boosters and hurtle itself past you. I didn’t intend that to happen to me. And it would unless I hauled time to heel like an exuberant dog. When dealing with time, I’d figured out that you either jerked its chain or it jerked yours. Sort of like Ida.
That made me smile; probably wasn’t a friendly smile. It was about time to jerk our mayor’s chain again. I’d given her space after Valentine’s. Given her enough time to absorb her newly unattached state now that Del Jackson had thrown in the towel and gone back to his ex-wife. Once Ida didn’t have him to hide behind, she found yet another way to delay the inevitable. She’d launched herself into a frenzy of preparation for the changes coming to Mossy Creek. Next fall we’d have a football team settled in their very own stadium again. That meant the high school needed a coach and Booster Club and probably a million other details. Mayor Ida Hamilton Walker had been busy, busy, busy.
Or as I liked to think of it: running, running, running.
Tweedle chirped his agreement as if he read my mind. When he chirped again, I realized my ’keet wasn’t showing masculine solidarity but asking for a treat. Sandy kept some special seeds in her desk. I had no idea what they were other than expensive, but—pound for pound—I had an equally expensive coffee bean habit so I couldn’t say much. We doled the seeds out a few at a time. I dutifully reached into the drawer trying to remember when Tweedle hadn’t been my responsibility. I felt that whole time-rushing-by thing again.
I didn’t mind Tweedle so much. He was, oddly, good company. He’d settled into life at the station, settled into all our lives as if there had always been a bit of space waiting to be filled by a bird brain. We’d put wheels on his cage and rolled him into the big room during the warmer days, if it wasn’t too drafty. He chatted up citizens, repeatedly did his bird-with-no-neck impression and walked sideways around the cage walls as if he prepared for an Indy run.
The phone rang before I could deliver the seeds. I tossed the first through the wire of his cage and grabbed the phone. “Mossy Creek Police.”
“Amos!” Win Allen sounded relieved. “I need to talk to you.”
I wasn’t really happy with Win at the moment, but I did try to sound solicitous. “Oh, no. Is the clown back?” (I knew how he felt about clowns, especially since one had burned down his cooking show set.)
“Oh, for crying out loud! Would you stop with the clown bit?”
“I’ll call truce if you will.”
Win is captain of the Let’s-Needle-Amos-About-The-Kiss team. At least I think he is. It could also be Hank or Mac. They’d all pretty much taken every opportunity to point out that I hadn’t closed the deal with Ida. To say they were disappointed in me would be an understatement. I’d somehow become the poster boy in Mossy Creek’s battle of the sexes and they hated the thought Ida might be winning.
Me? I had no problem letting Ida win the battle as long as I won the war.
I heard whispering through the phone and what sounded like exasperation. I had the impression of several people crowded around the receiver. “Win?”
“I’m working on it!” he hissed. Yep. Hissed. He wasn’t talking to me, because I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t hiss at me. Next I heard Win hiss, “You wanna do it? Do you? I told you to ask him to begin with.” Big sigh, then, “Amos, you still there?”
“Yeah. Confused but here.”
“We’ve got a little problem.”
I flipped a second seed into Tweedle’s cage. “Define we.”
“The men’s soccer team.”
This would be interesting. They’d formed a team a while back and excluded me. All the guys on the team were younger than me, some a lot; some just a little. Regardless, someone had drawn a line in the sand, and I’d ended up on the “old guy” side. Not that I could convince Ida of that. She thought I was too young for her. “What can I do for you boys?”
Win’s snort was audible on the phone. “We’re short a man.”
“You were short several men last time I looked.” I flipped the last seed at Tweedle. To Win’s credit he had lobbied for my inclusion on the team. His vote wasn’t enough to tip the scale. Rob Walker had been the driving force behind organizing a men’s team. At the time, he’d had issues with my pursuing his mother. I think we’ve made peace, but I still wasn’t on the team. I’m living with that, not happily, but quietly.
“Amos, do not make me beg. Today’s the first game of spring pre-season and we’re playing Bigelow as a warm-up. I know you can play.”
I wasn’t going to make him beg. Ida Hamilton Walker never missed one of her son’s soccer games. She could watch me run for a change.
ooo
Officer Mutt Bottoms agreed to come in and cover the rest of the day at the station. I stopped by home, grabbed some gear, and headed for the makeshift soccer field that would eventually become our new football field. A couple of risers on the sidelines stood empty. I had no idea from where they’d managed to scrounge those. Maybe the Booster Club was getting a head start.
The crowd wouldn’t be showing up for another hour, but Win wanted to run me through some of their offense. There was a nip in the air—a spring nip which made the temperature bearable. At least it would be bearable until we had to strip down to shorts. Right now we all had on sweats.
Both Win and Rob waited midfield. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t enjoy the pained expressions on their faces. Eating crow will twist your face up for sure.
“Howdy, Rob. Win.”
Unexpectedly Rob flipped the ball up with his foot and passed it gently to me. Smiling I dropped the bag in my hand and moved to stop the ball with my body and catch it on the edge of my foot as it fell to send it back.
“Told you he could play.” Win beamed. “We’ll be fine.”
“We’d better be.” Rob was actually angry with Win. “If we lose to Bigelow because you got into a pissing match with Dwight, you’d better start shopping in Bigelow because you’ll be barred from every business in town.”
Win fired right back. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Robbie. We don’t need Dwight. Dan will move to goalie and Amos can sub in as forward. Done. All fixed.”
Before they could argue more, I whistled. “Someone want to fill me in on the crisis while we warm up?”
They spread out, moving the ball between us, as Win explained.
“Dwight is trying to cheap-out on the new football coach. He’s told the search committee to consider only the candidates willing to work for the lower end of the salary range.”
I intercepted a sloppy pass to Rob and rerouted it. “Dwight can’t be that stupid. The town has been waiting years to get its football team back.”
“He’s that stupid,” Rob said and gave Win a pointed look. “But this morning wasn’t the day to tell him. It could have waited. Until after the . . . game.”
“Well maybe I’m sick of always treating Dwight like the second coming of Elvis. We gave him a bike in appreciation for his service but that doesn’t give him a free pass to make decisions carte blanche without telling anyone. I’m tired of hearing him talking about making the tough decisions and being the go-to guy for Mossy Creek. He’s full of himself and something else as well.”
Thwack. This time there wasn’t anything sloppy about the solid way Win’s foot connected with the ball. Win was channeling anger all the way down to his toes.
As we moved further away from each other talking ceased and they got down to the business of making sure I remembered my way around a soccer ball. It’s a pretty simple game. Run hard, don’t use your hands and kick it in the net. Even an old guy like me could remember that.
The rest of the team filtered into our group, putting me through my paces. When Rob was finally satisfied, he produced a uniform. I changed in my Jeep, then hit the bench, decked out in my new uniform shorts and went over some of the plays with Rob quick-drawing them
on his clipboard.
“Daddy!”
Rob looked up. Little Ida came jogging over, carrying a stadium blanket and a really big canvas bag . . . that was undulating. “Momma said to tell you that she’ll be here before the half. She forgot to get your oranges.”
“Thank you, sweet pea. Whatcha got?”
“Wampa.” When Rob leaned over to peer in the tote bag Little Ida dropped the blanket and pushed him back with her free hand. She looked a little like a Supreme doing a dance move. “Stop! They told us he had abandonment issues. Aunt Ardaleen said that’s why he’s mean as a snake. He doesn’t bite me. But you should have seen him take a chunk out of Aunt Ardaleen.” She giggled.
Little Ida shares her grandmother’s troublemaking nature. I bit my lip to keep from saying anything about the apple not falling far from the namesake-tree. Didn’t help. Rob made the connection all by himself. A couple of white fluffy, fuzzy ears peaked out of the top of the tote back. I leaned over to Rob. “Hey, Elmer, I think they’ve been wabbit hunting.” I shook my head slowly. “This can’t end well.”
Rob snorted then turned to his daughter. I admired the boy’s grasp on his temper when he asked, “Where’s your grandmother?”
Little Ida pointed back over her shoulder. “I’m going to get us the good bleacher seats. And we need extra room for Wampa because of the biting.”
Rob and I both swiveled. Ida was about twenty feet away. Deep in conversation with Jayne Reynolds, who pushed her son Matt in a stroller with one hand and pulled a wagon with coffee paraphernalia, including an industrial-size pot, with the other. Jayne was the single mom/businesswoman, never-leave-home-without-everything type.
Right next to her was my type—Ida Hamilton Walker, who never left home without an opinion. She’d pulled back her auburn hair, thrown on a pair of old soft jeans and a black long-sleeved t-shirt. Just your average soccer mom come to watch her kid play soccer. She looked so pretty and harmless.
A new crowd gathered around Matt. Ida touched Jayne’s arm and said a quick goodbye. She took a couple of steps, scanned the crowd around the field and spotted Rob. Two more steps and it dawned on her who the new soccer player was. I waved. She stared at my legs and . . . other parts. I like to keep in shape, and soccer shorts are really thin material. Wasn’t my fault a breeze was blowing in my direction.
Rob said, “Oh, for God’s sake!” and walked away. Apparently his wabbit-issues could wait. I laughed. It was an uneasy truce between us, but he was trying. Before Ida could decide how to dodge me or detour to her son, I met her halfway, dropping my gaze to the words on her t-shirt. Already against the next war.
“Nice slogan.”
“Don’t start.”
“Start what?”
That snapped her head up and squared her shoulders. “Please. You and I both know that if I give you any opening at all, you’ll manage to take the old peace anthem about making love, not war and turn it into something intimate about us.”
“If the slogan fits . . .”
“And you wonder why I avoid you.”
A half-second too late she realized what she’d just admitted. Her face scrunched in the classic, “Oh Crap” maneuver. I leaned in and whispered, “Lucy, you got some ‘splainin’ to do.”
When she opened her eyes, I thought I saw surrender. I tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. We were about to have a moment. A very public moment. And that was fine by me.
But then the screaming baby happened. Or yelling toddler. Almost three, Matt was much too old to be called a baby. He was standing in his stroller yelling right at me. Not just in my direction, but clearly yelling for me to come get him. “Daddy! Daddy! Here!”
The actual air temperature dropped a degree. Or that’s what it felt like as I watched the words register on Ida’s face. She backed up a step, put a respectable distance between us, and a wall came clanging down. I hung on to my temper. “He calls everyone Daddy. He picked it up at Mother’s Day out. It’s a phase. He sees me every day when I go by Jayne’s shop for coffee. Don’t make it anything more. I know what you’re thinking, but it’s just a phase.”
She sucked in some indignation. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve had a child. You’re the one who hasn’t.”
“I don’t remember wanting one. You don’t get to decide things for me, Ida, unless you’re in my life. Unless you care about me. Are you? Do you?”
We were still on the verge of a moment, but this wasn’t one I wanted to have in public. The chaos of pre-soccer drifted past us as I waited.
Almost too quietly for me to hear, Ida finally said, “I’ve got no business in your life. But someone like Jayne does. Wake up and smell the coffee shop, Amos.”
Before I could answer, Win joined us, jostling me out of position in front of Ida. “You look pissed. I guess Amos is filling you in, but you should know that it wasn’t my fault. Rob says it is but I don’t think so. Someone had to do it.”
Ida looked from him to me, not sure how to tell him we weren’t discussing the city. I shouldn’t have, but I saved her the awkwardness by throwing her a lifeline disguised as advice to Win. “Dwight isn’t thinking clearly if he’s trying to cheap-out on the football coach, but telling him he’s a cheapskate and should be voted out office wasn’t the way to get him to reconsider the salary budget.”
In the background, Matt hollered again. Win shoved me. “Amos, go get Matt before he has a cow.”
Ida just looked at me. Dared me to dispute the fact that even Win knew Matt was intent on me and no one else. The kid liked me but that didn’t mean I wanted to date his mom. But someone had to or I’d never win this argument with Ida. Truth be told, it was probably that very moment I decided to throw Win under the bus. He could take one for the team.
The Rabbit Stops Running
Part Two
Me, Little Ida and Wampa The Maniacal Rabbit were still feeling a little twitchy when we arrived at Mossy Creek’s new high school stadium for the pre-season community-league soccer game. Mossy Creek vs. Bigelow. Our Men vs. Their Men. Our way of life versus, etc. A perfect analogy for the day so far. Maybe Wampa could be our team mascot.
The spring morning had warmed up enough for me to change into a long-sleeve black tee and jeans. My tee bore the slogan, Already Against The Next War. Not that the words were readable at the moment. Too much fur. A black t-shirt isn’t the smartest thing to wear around a big, white rabbit. I looked like a giant lint roller.
“Don’t let Wampa out of the tote bag again,” I warned Little Ida. “He’ll clog every vacuum in town.”
She grinned up at me and hitched the plaid tote higher on one shoulder. Only Wampa’s head showed above the top of the bag. His floppy ears swung gently as we climbed the bleachers. He nuzzled Little Ida’s arm. Tufts of his white fur decorated her blue sweater. A breeze shifted some down to her jeans.
“Nuh uh, stay back,” I warned as people went “Awww,” and tried to pet Wampa. “He’s lethal. I’m planning to rent him to the military as a secret weapon.”
After Wampa gnashed the air a few times, displaying inch-long bunny teeth, no one tried to pet him again. Go figure.
We stopped on an empty spot with lots of protective space around Wampa. I kept my back to the field as our men strode onto the grass for warm-ups. Ardaleen’s jibes about Amos still rang in my ears, reinforcing every doubt I had about proceeding down the path to romance, couple-hood, and me pretending that our thirteen-year age difference no longer mattered.
“Bunny!” I heard behind me. I whipped around just as Jayne Reynolds innocently strollered Matt, her toddler, right up to Wampa.
“Cute rabbit,” Jayne said, unsuspecting.
“No, no, Matt,” Little Ida yelled, trying to swivel Wampa away from him. But Matt lunged out of the stroller seat and grabbed both of Wampa’s ears. “Easter Bunny!”
Wampa stared at him. I grabbed Matt’s hands and began prying his fingers loose. “Let go, Matt, let go.”
He held on tighte
r. “Easter Bunny!”
“Let go, Matt,” Jayne ordered. She tugged backward on the stroller, but Matt pulled Wampa’s ears harder, I pried faster. Wampa was about to take a section of Matt’s blond-brown scalp.
Abruptly, Wampa stuck his nose in Matt’s hair, took a big sniff, wiggled his pink nose . . . and nibbled the soft brownish locks as if they were sweet grass.
Matt let go of Wampa’s ears and burst into giggles. I exhaled a long, relieved breath. Jayne looked upset and bewildered. I decided not to explain. She reached down to pull him back from the rabbit. “Matt, honey, don’t . . .”
“He’s all right,” I soothed. “The rabbit’s just giving him a mohawk.”
After Jayne calmed down, she fished a paper cup from the wagon she was hauling and tapped the commercial coffee pot she’d strapped onto it. The aroma of gourmet coffee wafted through the spring air. “Only fifty cents. I’m selling them for the Booster Club.”
As owner of The Naked Bean, our coffee shop, she was doing her part to raise money for the new high school. I took the cup from her while she rolled Matt out of Wampa’s tasting range. That didn’t stop Matt from reaching out for the rabbit again. Little Ida quickly swiveled Wampa away.
I nodded toward the field. “Why don’t you take Mr. Haircutter down and introduce him to your daddy? Be sure and tell your daddy I called your mom and she approved the rabbit. And tell him I said Wampa is housebroken.”
Little Ida bit back a smile. “Okay, but that’s what you told him about the ferrets and the iguana.”
Critters of Mossy Creek Page 6