3
By half past five, most of the fencing-team parents and kids, plus assorted girlfriends, had shown up. The boys’ bald heads always gave my heart a jolt. They’d all shaved their scalps in sympathy with one of their teammates. He’d been stricken with leukemia and was going through chemo. The boy was doing well, but wouldn’t be at the party.
The parents marched through to Marla’s kitchen, proudly holding their favorite Mexican dishes aloft. Tom asked them how long their entrées needed to heat, and if anything ought to be refrigerated. Then, as carefully as he took notes at a crime scene, he wrote down everything in his notebook.
Marla honked the announcement of her arrival. Parked behind other vehicles in her own driveway, she called for Tom to push out a dolly so he could haul in three
