Page 126 of The Bodyguard

Sam clucked. “He’s acting so innocent—and speaking of blowing whistles—”

“What did I get myself into?” Sawyer dropped his head back, barely hiding his laughter. “I should’ve warned you.”

“No, no, no. I want to hear,” Angela shushed him. “Don’t stop, Sam.”

“Now, first, you have to understand that I’m the football coach. Always was. So Sawyer knew what he was doing.”

Susan beamed. “He and Jimmy—if you see a theme, you’re right—Sawyer and Jimmy, all the time, always in trouble—”

“The good kind of trouble,” Sawyer asserted.

Sam made a face. “The boys ran laps all summer to stay ready for football. I was proud of them.”

“But,” Susan took over, “what we didn’t know was—”

“Bear in mind,” Sawyer interrupted, “this was all Jimmy’s idea.”

Sam and Susan both pooh-poohed him before Susan continued, “Those boys ran laps around the football field with pockets full of birdseed and whistles around their necks. They blew the whistles, tossed the birdseed—they must’ve run a hundred miles that summer, whistling and throwing seed and making quite a group of feathered friends.”

“Then I show up,” his dad said, “ready for summer drills, ready for tryouts, blow my darn whistle and”—Sam raised his arms toward the ceiling—“it was like birds fell from the sky. They rained onto the field. I’d blow my whistle again, and you’d have thought I was a pile of peanuts.”

Sawyer held up his hands. “Harmless prank.”

“I could’ve died from bird flu.”

“But you didn’t.” Sawyer filled his mouth with the last bite of his potatoes. “And you got a hell of a story to share.”

Susan pushed from the table. “Who wants something sweet?”

Both men raised their hands. Angela laughed. Everyone got up from the table to clear their plates.

“I have a new box of Popsicles in the garage freezer. Sawyer, go get them.”

“Not the ones with the cartoon on the front of the carton. They’re terrible,” Sam said. “We need to throw them out.”

“I like them. Let them be.”

“I’ll find the right box,” Sawyer said over his shoulder as he went to find their dessert.

“We shouldn’t have told stories.” Susan groaned. “My Popsicles are in danger.”

Laughing, Angela followed Sawyer. “I’ll make sure they’re safe.”

They walked out of the happy house and into the sweet smell of a warm summer breeze. The sun hung heavy just behind the trees, leaving long shadows on the grass and a sky filled with oranges and reds.

Sawyer hooked his arm over her shoulder. “I really should have warned you.”

“Nothing you could’ve said would have prepared me for dinner with your parents. They are fantastic.”

“I know. They’re good people.” He kissed the top of her head and then led her into the garage.

She wandered toward the tool wall and oversized saw on the workspace. “What were you doing in here with your dad?”

He opened the deep freeze and examined a box of Popsicles—held up the one Sam had banned—but tossed it back in for the less offending box. “Making new shelves for the laundry room.”

“Of course you were.” The far wall was an altar to Sawyer’s youth. Pictures of sports teams and trading cards, fading from over the years, papered the wall. Laminated headlines celebrated youth league wins. “Oh my gosh. You were so cute.” All that blond hair and those blue eyes screamed mischief. “I bet you and Jimmy kept your mother up late at night.”

Interspersed with the sports pictures were school photographs and candids with friends. The same little boy appeared over and over with Sawyer. “That’s Jimmy, huh?”

---