Mercy said with a worried frown.
Goodness motioned for them to be quiet, fast losing her patience. This was hard enough without the two of them pestering her. Mercy held both hands over her mouth, while Shirley whirled about the room like a hamster on a treadmill.
“Well?” Shirley said when Goodness left the kitchen doorway.
“They’re meeting on the Seattle waterfront.”
“I love the waterfront,” Mercy said.
Goodness looked at her. “Promise me you won’t start throwing those salmon again.”
“I’m not making any such promise.”
“Need I remind you that we’re on a mission?”
Shirley nodded sternly. “A very important mission.”
Goodness noticed how Mercy glanced longingly at the deck of cards and the piles of chips. She found it far too easy to get distracted. Maybe her priorities weren’t quite in order yet.
Julie gathered the team of junior-high girls around her. Huddling close together to ward off the December-afternoon cold, her soccer team radiated energy and enthusiasm. Each girl thrust her right arm into the center of the huddle and gave a loud cheer.
The first string raced onto the field for the opening kick, and the others returned to the bench. As Julie started down the sideline, she glanced into the stadium. A number of parents had already arrived. More would come later in the game, depending on work schedules. The girls appreciated the support and so did Julie.
She had several talented players. Most of the girls had been involved with soccer from the age of five, and they knew how to play as a team. At halftime, they were ahead three to two.
Their audience had grown, Julie saw as she sent her girls back onto the field for the second half of the game. Darkness descended earlier and earlier these days, and the field lights came on automatically. As they did, she saw a lone figure standing by the chain-link fence at the far end of the field. It couldn’t be. Roy Fletcher? Surely she was mistaken. Why would he attend one of her games?
Julie felt the blood rush to her face and then just as quickly drain away. He’d been to the house for dinner two nights in a row, and played cards with her father both times. He’d apparently enjoyed the meals, although she’d never thought of Roy Fletcher as the kind of man who’d appreciate a bowl of black-bean soup and buttery corn bread. He’d surprised her by accepting and then eating two big bowlfuls, all the while praising her cooking skills. He’d been equally enthusiastic about Wednesday’s Crock-Pot stew. Now he’d shown up at her soccer game.
The two teams were tied in the third quarter, but Abraham Lincoln managed to pull off a win with a last-second goal, ending the match with a score of four to three. Julie went into the locker room with the team, but she didn’t expect Roy to be waiting for her when she finished nearly an hour later, after the girls had showered, changed and cleaned up.
Locking the room, she carried the soccer balls to the equipment area, then headed toward the faculty parking lot. As she stepped from the building and into the darkness of late afternoon, she saw Roy silhouetted against one of the lights. He’d pulled his vehicle around to where she’d parked and leaned casually against the fender as if he had nothing better to do.
“I wondered if you’d gotten lost in there.” He straightened as she approached and moved toward her.
“Hi.” His being here flustered Julie. Roy Fletcher was a very important man, far too important to spend valuable time watching her coach a soccer game. “I thought I saw you.” That wasn’t the most intelligent comment she’d ever made, but she couldn’t think of anything better.
“I didn’t get here until halftime.”
“You didn’t need to come. I certainly didn’t expect you to.”
“I didn’t expect to come, either,” he confessed. His hands were plunged deep in his overcoat pockets. “It’s been years since I attended a soccer match. This afternoon, a business associate sent me a report about our overseas sales, and I suddenly started thinking about European soccer.”
“They take it very seriously over there.”
“Seems to me your girls do, too.”
“True.” She nodded slowly. “My team works hard and winning is important, but it’s about far more than that.”
“I disagree,” he countered. “Winning is everything.”
“Perhaps in your line of work.”
“In every line of work. In everything. Look at soccer. Each game counts and—”
Julie held up her hand. Life and business were intense for Roy. Or maybe life was business in his view. “Now isn’t the time to be having this conversation,” she said briskly. Julie was tired and cold and in no state to reason with Roy Fletcher. If he wanted to argue, she’d prefer to be at her best, and currently she was far from it.
“You’re right,” he murmured as he walked her to her car.
“You came, and I’d like to thank you for that,” she said.
“That’s the weird part,” Roy went on. “I got sidetracked there for a moment. As I said, I was looking at European sales figures, and I started thinking about soccer. Then I remembered that you were coaching a game this afternoon and I had this strange urge to come and watch.”
She noticed the urge hadn’t been to come and see her. “Strange urge or not, I’m honored you were here.” She told herself it was ludicrous to feel disappointed that she hadn’t been the reason.
“It was an excellent game.”
“Thank you on behalf of my team.” She inserted the key into her lock, anxious now to get home and under a hot shower.
“And you’re an excellent coach.”
Again she smiled her appreciation. She tossed her backpack on the passenger seat. She didn’t want to be rude by climbing into her car and driving away, but Roy didn’t seem to have anything else to say.
As it turned out, Julie was wrong about that.
“Do you enjoy clam chowder?” he asked unexpectedly.
“Yes, I do.” It was one of her favorite soups.
“There’s a little hole-in-the-wall café not far from here. They used to serve the most incredible clam chowder. I don’t even know if the café’s still open. I haven’t been there in years, but I’m willing to look if you are.”
Julie wanted to be sure she understood what he was asking her. “Are you inviting me to dinner?” He seemed nervous about this, but she must be misreading him. Roy Fletcher had nothing to be nervous about.
“Yes, I guess I am asking you to dinner.” He brushed a hand across his face. “Like I said, I don’t know if the café’s still open. I ate there in college quite a lot. The food was cheap and good.”
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