The Great Christmas Bowl Read Online Free PDF Page B

less.
    â€œNo,” I said again, letting that mental image fuel me. “Absolutely not.”
    Kevin withdrew his hand and turned away. His teammates, clearly embarrassed for both of us, shuffled off. How I longed to offer them a plate of chocolate chip cookies, hear them say, “You’re the best, Mrs. Wallace.” But I couldn’t fix this with cookies.
    Perhaps it wasn’t all going to work out after all.
    â€œReady to go, honey?” Mike appeared, carrying his radio. He smiled at me, but it dimmed as he glanced at the quiet players. “Marge said she’d call from the hospital,” he offered in condolence. I didn’t know how to tell him that they were grieving their fish and that I’d dealt the fatal blow.
    â€œYes, I’m ready,” I said, trying not to run from the hospital in a full-out sprint.
    The house was lonely and quiet when we arrived home. Mike set his radio on the charger, turned on the police scanner, and went up to change. I didn’t mention Kevin’s request, not sure who Mike would side with, especially not needing any more guilt.
    Fresh as yesterday in my mind was the year I dressed up as Kriss Kringle for Brianna’s third-grade Christmas party. And taught Neil’s entire fifth-grade class how to play capture the flag during his slumber party. Right behind it, the time I stayed up all night reconstructing Brett’s landform sculpture of Peru after the dog ate the bread-dough landscape. I’d even spent a weekend at a Girl Scouts camp with Amy, listening to the giggling of fifteen twelve-year-old girls.
    But none of those things included humiliation in front of the entire town.
    I hung up my jacket and put my foam finger on the shelf above the coat hooks. The chill of the game had whistled down my spine and invaded my bones. Despite the stopover at the clinic, I still shivered. I filled a teakettle and turned on the stove for hot cocoa.
    I passed by my kitchen desk as I grabbed a mug and spied the light for the answering machine blinking. I pressed the Play button.
    â€œMarianne, it’s Pastor Backlund. I just wanted to let you know the elders met and confirmed you as the hospitality chair. You can set up your first meeting, but you’ll need to meet soon to get the Christmas Tea under way. Thank you for serving! Call me if you have any questions.” His cheery voice betrayed no hint of the conversation I’d had with his wife so long ago before the game.
    And of course, I’d forgotten to call.
    I sank down at the kitchen table, closed my eyes, folded my arms, and rested my head on them. I distinctly remembered saying no, but I could imagine the dismay Pastor Backlund and Gretchen Gilstrap would express if I backed out. It was one thing to decline, yet another to leave the church in the lurch. I kept my commitments. Even when I hadn’t really made them.
    I wanted to throw the mug across the room, but it was one that I’d gotten from Neil when he went on a missions trip to Kentucky.
    Besides, I had possibly found the one thing worse than being the hospitality chairperson. Images of Bud waving his fins on the bench, shiny and glistening under the field lights, slipped through my mind. Perhaps serving my church would be my penance for turning down my son and his needy compatriots. For being a traitor at the height of their need.
    I could hear Mike upstairs, humming as he changed out of his uniform. Darkness pressed against the windows. The wind had started to howl, and I hoped a full-out blizzard might be in the making. Maybe we’d get snowed in and they’d call off the rest of the football season.
    Then again, we lived in Minnesota. I’m not sure we’ve ever had a snow day in the history of the county. And this was the run for state.
    The water began to heat on the stove, rattling the teakettle.
    I wondered if Bud had made it through the flight, if Marge had anyone with her. The thought of being