that I noticed she was jotting notes into a small notebook next to her plate. I wondered how sill and smorgasbord would fit into an article about football. But I didn't say anything. It was her article.
I munched some red grapes. Once when I was little, to get me to try some, Dad told me they were little balloons filled with grape juice. I ate one and decided he was right, and they've been a favorite food ever since.
Between crunches I noticed that whenever Rolf said something about his family Glynnie scribbled furiously, as if she were writing the entire Holst history. I figured she was like those actors who had to know everything about a character before playing a role. Well, if Rolf wanted to pour out his entire life history, fine. I would stick to football.
"What's it like being a team captain, Rolf?" Glynnie asked as she nibbled a rosette. It was the first football question she'd asked.
"Tougher than I thought it would be," Rolf said. "I'm kind of in the spotlight, and some of the guys … well, they look at me differently. Like I'm not just one of the guys anymore."
"What do you mean?" Glynnie rested her chin on her hand and leaned forward.
"Well, uh, I've always been kind of … loud. Enthusiastic , Coach Short always said. When the defense is on the sidelines, I always cheer and stuff, to help the team keep going." He popped a spritz cookie in his mouth, downing it in two chews. "You know, when guys are down sometimes sideline enthusiasm can turn into on-field enthusiasm. Now that I'm captain, though … I don't know … some of the guys don't like it. It's weird. I wonder, am I the right guy for the job?"
"Of course you're the right guy for the job, Rolf." Kirstin jabbed her finger at him for emphasis.
Rolf smiled and gently tweaked Kirstin's chin. "My loyal fan club."
Glynnie took notes on all of this.
"What are you writing … a book?" I asked.
Glynnie shook her head. "For now, just an article."
"And someday …?" I asked, figuring there was more.
"The Great American Novel, of course," Glynnie said, not quite keeping a straight face.
"Oh, of course," I said. I did not add, Give me a break … doesn't everyone who writes think he'll write the Great American novel?
"You want to be a writer ? For a living ?" Kirstin asked.
"'Want to be' is the key phrase," Glynnie said.
"You'll make it," Kirstin said, ever the optimist. "I can say I knew you when."
"Check back in ten years and see if you admit to ever knowing me," Glynnie said, half-seriously.
When we finished eating, Kirstin managed to duck out of cleaning up again by insisting on showing Glynnie the goldfish. Just as Rolf and I finished cleaning up, Kirstin and Glynnie came back in.
"Perfect timing," I said.
"What did you think of the goldfish, Glynnie?" Rolf said.
"They were fun to watch," Glynnie said. "And the yard, it's just beautiful! I could've sat back there all afternoon."
"Kirstin did most of the work in the yard," Rolf said.
"Really?" Glynnie asked.
"Well, Mom and me," Kirstin said, "with a lot of advice from Rolf about native woodland plants."
"I'm impressed." Glynnie scribbled some notes.
"Are you through reviewing the yard?" I asked. "I mean, I'd like to get some rest before afternoon practice."
"Isn't the antique store closed today?" Glynnie asked.
"Yeah, but the sign also says that it's open 'By Chance.'"
"Meaning, if anyone's home, the store is open?"
"You got it," I said. I was thinking it would be nice if Glynnie would leave.
The buzzer sounded.
"Rolf and I have some errands to run," Kirstin said.
"Hey, it's your turn," I said, but she and Rolf were out the door before I got the last word out.
"Duty calls," I said to Glynnie. "See ya."
I suppose I could've walked her to the front door first, but I figured she'd find her way out.
In the shop were two men who seemed to know exactly what they were looking for. They circled the shop and within five minutes had picked up a batter bowl, pitcher, salt-and-pepper shaker
Learning to Kill: Stories