“Same result,” Renie noted.
Judith was trying to shut her cousin up, but the
glares and the gestures weren’t working. “Now, Mr.
Randall, I’m sure that Mrs. Jones doesn’t mean . . .”
Tears were coursing down Jim Randall’s gaunt
cheeks. He snuffled several times, removed his glasses,
and swiped at his eyes. “My brother didn’t have an
enemy in the world. He was one of the most beloved
sports figures in America. And here, in this city, he was
a god.”
“Mr. Fumbles,” Renie muttered. “I remember one
headline after a big loss that read, ‘Can Randall Get a
Handle on the Ball?’ Between interceptions and fumbles, he turned the ball over six times that day, leading
to a total of twenty-four points for the other guys. His
so-called eagle eye couldn’t seem to tell who was
wearing which uniform.”
“He’d eaten bad beef!” Jim cried. “He was very ill,
he was playing on courage alone.”
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“He should have played on the field,” Renie retorted.
“He should have sat down and let his backup take over.
I don’t know what the coach was thinking of, except
that Randall was a big star and the second-stringer was
a third-year man who was out of football by the next
season.”
“I can’t stand it!” Jim bent down to pick up the bouquet and stormed out of the room.
“Coz . . .” Judith was exasperated.
“I’m sorry,” Renie said, exhibiting absolutely no
sense of remorse. “Bill and I were at that game, and it
made me mad. Granted, it was probably the worst performance of Bob Randall’s career, but we paid out over
a hundred bucks for tickets and we saw a really rotten
game. Furthermore, I don’t like Margie Randall blaming Bill for her Sad Sack state. I’ll bet I’m right, she
enjoys being miserable.”
“That’s not the point,” Judith said. “You were rude,
even mean. The poor guy just lost his brother, he’s got
his own health problems, and now he’s saddled with
two very unfortunate young people and a sister-in-law
who’s an emotional wreck.” Judith pointed to the
statue of Mary and the baby Jesus. “You’re in a Christian hospital. How about a little charity?”
Renie let out a big sigh. “Okay, okay. So I was kind
of blunt with Jim. I suppose I’m feeling sorry for myself, for you, too, and wondering how many more of
these procedures and surgeries and operations we’ll
have to have before they carry us out like Bob Randall.
If, like Margie Randall, I were inclined to depression,
I’d be in about a forty-foot hole by now.”
Judith was quiet for a few moments, considering
Renie’s words. “You’re right, this isn’t one of our
brightest moments. But we can still act like decent
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Mary Daheim
human beings, especially to people who are in a worse
mess than we are.”
“Yeah, right.” Renie flipped open the top of a can of
Pepsi. “I told you, even though I know Bob Randall
was the best quarterback ever to play for the Sea Auks,
I simply never saw him give one of his better performances. I guess I had that one lousy game all bottled up
inside for the past twenty-odd years. And,” she went
on, gathering steam and wagging a finger, “I still don’t
know why the coach didn’t pull Randall and put in his
backup. Maybe Bob was sick, but if that had been the
case, he should have come out of the game. No wonder the second-stringer quit football and went to medical school.”
“He did?” Judith eyed Renie curiously. “Who was he?”
Renie shook her head. “I forget. It was a name like
that quarterback from the Rams a million years ago.”
She took a big sip of Pepsi and choked.
“Coz,” Judith said in alarm, “are you okay?”
Renie sputtered, coughed, and waved her arms.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Give me a minute.” Getting herself under control, she stared at Judith. “I do remember
the guy’s name. It was Jan Van Boeck. I guess,” Renie
said slowly, “I remembered Norm Van Brocklin, but I
got him mixed up with Bill Van Bredakoff, who played
basketball, not football. Anyway, Van Boeck’s name
suddenly came to me after all these years. I never made
the connection before. He played so seldom for the
Auks.”
“I suppose I’m dreaming,” Judith said, fingering her
chin. “But what if Dr. Van Boeck has been jealous of
Bob Randall all these years? What if he blamed him
for ruining his chances at becoming a superstar?”
“Van Boeck would be delusional,” Renie said. “If
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113
he’d had any real talent, he could have gone to another
team. I don’t recall an era when any franchise had a
plethora of outstanding quarterbacks.”
“Maybe not,” Judith admitted. “Still . . .”
“Besides,” Renie noted, “Van Boeck is a superstar in
the medical world.”
“It’s not the same,” Judith pointed out. “Doctors
don’t do TV ads for Nike scrubs. Furthermore,” she
continued, sitting up as straight as she could manage,
“all your harangues kept us from finding out if Jim
Randall saw who was driving the car that hit Addison
Kirby.”
“Darn. Sorry.” At last Renie looked genuinely contrite.
Judith smiled faintly. “That’s okay. I don’t think Jim
Randall can see much of anything with those Cokebottle glasses. Besides, it all happened so fast.”
Dinner arrived, brought by the silent orderly. Judith
was disappointed; she’d hoped that the garrulous Maya
would be on duty. After the orderly had left the trays,
the cousins dared to take a peek.
“Some kind of meat,” Renie said.
“Some kind of greens,” Judith said.
“Perhaps a potato on the side?” Renie suggested.
“I don’t think so,” Judith replied. “It might be a very
pale squash.”
“Turnip—or maybe parsnip?” Renie ventured as she
picked up the phone and punched in a single digit. “Operator, can you connect me with Delphi Pizza?” She
waited, meanwhile grinning at Judith. “We don’t need
this crap. We can get real food. Hello? This is Mrs. Jones
at Good Cheer Hospital. I’d like to place an order for delivery. One extra-large pizza with . . . what? The snow?
No, I haven’t looked out lately. Really? Damn. But
thanks anyway,” she added hastily.
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“What’s wrong?” Judith asked.
Renie was getting out of bed and going to the window. “Good grief, it’s really coming down. The driveway into the parking lot is covered. Oh—here comes
a car now. Slowly. It looks like the driver’s having
trouble. I guess the children to whom I gave life have
another excuse for not visiting their ailing mother.”
“You were expecting them?” Judith asked.
“Sort of,” Renie replied, still watching the snow. “So
if we can’t get a Delphi pizza delivered, will anybody
else brave the storm?”
Judith poked at her meal with her fork. “I’m not
really that hungry. And you have your Falstaff ’s stash
to fall back on.”
“But I wanted something hot,” Renie said, her tone
faintly querulous. “I need serious protein. Now that I
think about it, a steak sounds good.”