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of the Murasaki blade. "I'm sharpening it."
* * *
Barb set her bag down by the door to the garage and took a deep breath. Home.
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"Mom!" Brandon yelled, charging down the hallway followed by Brook.
She hugged her two younger children and looked around for Allison. She was
probably pouting in her room.
After greeting the kids she walked through the kitchen and looked in the
family room. Mark was installed in front of the big-screen, watching a replay
series on ESPN.
"Hello, dear," she said, smiling. "Miss me?"
"Yeah," Mark said, not looking away from the TV. "How was your conference or
whatever?"
"Enlightening," Barb replied, her eyes dark with memories.
"Great. What's for supper?"
BOOK THREE
BROKEN SABBATH
Chapter One
Keep your eye on the ball, Allison!" Barb screamed as her daughter swung and
missed. "That was way to the outside!"
"You really get into this," Cindy Hudson said, grinning at the overwrought
mother. Her own daughter had just struck out to a mild "Better luck next time,
honey."
Cindy was as short and dark as her friend was tall and fair. They knew they
made an odd couple but up until the last winter they had spent most of their
free time together, their families even taking combined vacations. But since
Barbara's trip down to the bayou and her car accident, Cindy had noticed a
change in her friend. Sometimes she'd shiver as if from more than cold and get
a distant look that was strange and hard. Something more than a car accident
had happened on that trip but Cindy had never found it in her to ask what. She
was afraid her friend had been raped, but there were simply things that nice
Episcopal women, close friends though they were, didn't ask.
The two were dressed in light coats against the early spring cold and
surrounded by similarly dressed parents, grand parents, friends and siblings
of the players. The clothing of the group ranged from the designer labeled
jackets and jeans of Barb and Cindy to oil stained jackets labeled only with
names, but on the stands the parents were one group, united in the belief that
onlytheir girls were in the running for the Redwater County Spring Season
trophy.
"Anything you do should be done to the best of your ability," Barbara said,
taking a deep breath to control her anger. "Allisonknows better than that.
She's letting the pitcher spook her."
"They're winning," Cindy said in exasperation.
"Only because Charlotte's kept the Panthers from hitting," Barb said, taking
a breath again. "Don't tense up, Allison! Just watch the ball and do the job!"
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The blonde teenager didn't appear to notice her mother screaming at her from
the stands, waggling the softball bat then settling into position. The pitches
were full-up and the pitcher chose to send a fast ball straight in over the
base. Allison swung and . . . missed.
"Strike Three!"
* * *
"Just what was that all about?" Coach Sherman shouted as the girls gathered in
the dugout. "If Charlotte hadn't struck out most of their batters, we'd have
been looking at the tail end of the season! If you girls can't do better than
that I'll get a team of FIFTH graders and win! There's an additional practice
scheduled for Saturday . . ."
"But, coach . . ." Sandy Adams started to protest.
"I don't want to hear about it!" the coach shouted. "I don't want to hear
about dates or dances or any of the rest. Eight PM at the West Park field.
Tell your parents we'll be playing late and Idon't want them there. This is
about playing ball, not making faces for your moms and dads! We are going to
take the tournament this season or there will be Hell to pay! Do you
girlsunderstand me?"
* * *
"Wasn't the spring dance scheduled for this Saturday?" Barbara asked as her
dejected daughter got in the Expedition.
"It's notfair ," Allison complained. "I already had a date and everything . .
."
"Your batting reallywas bad," Barb answered, tartly. "Were you thinking more
about the dance than the game?"
"I don't know," Allison whined. "I just had a hard time concentrating. Mom, I
don't want to play anymore. I don't like Coach Sherman. He's not like Coach
Foss."
"Maybe that's good," Barbara said, finally getting out of the traffic of the
parking lot and onto the one lane access road. Despite the double line she
passed a turtle-slow mini-van ahead of her, whipping in and out of the lanes
with the Expedition rocking on its springs. "Coach Foss was a very nice man,
but he didn't have the sort of winning record of Coach Sherman. We're lucky he
moved up here."
"Have you evertalked to Coach Sherman?" Allison asked.
"Not directly," Barb admitted. "Why?"
"He's . . . weird," Allison said, pouting. "He makes me feel creepy."
Barbara paused for a moment at that. Sexual predators came in all sorts of
guises, but positions of relative power and influence, like coaches, were one
that all parents had to keep an eye on. The flip side was that Allison was
more than capable of using her mother's rather strong protective streak to get
out of something she wasn't enjoying anymore. And since she'd
steadfastlyrefused to take martial arts this year, she only had cheerleading
and gym to keep her in shape.
"I'll keep that in mind," Barb said. "And I'll admit that it makes the
practice this Saturday questionable. But you're going anyway. Since there are
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