Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay, Babette Jongh [book club books txt] 📗

Other whistles joined in—at least one helper had arrived, thank God—and slowly the crowd simmered down. Some of the kids drifted toward the sound of the multiple whistles. Abby wilted in relief. Two more of her helpers had arrived, and another car pulled in a moment later.

Thank God. Abby realized she was shaking all over, trembling with fear that one of the animals would be harmed before she could get the situation under control.

Edna Fitzgerald, the oldest volunteer and a retired schoolteacher, put a hand on Abby’s shoulder and squeezed. “Do you want me to take over for a bit?”

Abby blinked back sudden tears of relief. “Yes, please.”

Edna blew her whistle again. “Everybody FREEZE!” She pointed her whistle at the boys who had climbed the fence into the goat pen and apparently thought they were invisible. “Yes, I mean you. Get back here.”

The boys slunk back over the fence into the yard.

“In a minute,” Edna said, “I’m going to blow this whistle again. When I do, I want every human who arrived here on a bus to be standing in front of me. Got it?”

A few kids nodded, and others mumbled or said something affirmative-sounding. That wasn’t good enough for Edna. “Signal you heard me by shouting, ‘Yes, ma’am, Miss Edna!’” (Amazing, wonderful Edna.)

She glared at some kids who were still fidgeting, and incredibly, they stopped moving. “Now, for those of you who might not have heard, I will repeat myself only this once. When I blow this whistle, you will immediately make haste to stand silently in front of me and await further instruction. Do you understand?”

A chorus of voices answered, “Yes, ma’am, Miss Edna!”

Abby was overwhelmed by a rush of pure love, admiration, and respect for Edna, who had cast a magic spell over these horrible hellions and their ineffective adult chaperones.

Edna nodded approval, then blew the whistle.

As the children ran toward Edna, Abby felt a weak sense of optimism begin to flow through her. She—and the animal ambassadors of Bayside Barn—might make it through this day after all.

* * *

Quinn threw his phone onto the passenger seat and lowered the visor to block out the late-afternoon sun. Driving west into the sunset wasn’t as annoying as the fact that every time he called Sean, the kid’s phone went straight to voicemail. Either Sean was deliberately avoiding him, or he’d let his battery die.

Quinn hoped it was the battery.

He swung by Home Depot and picked up more sandpaper and another bucket of varnish for the bookstore shelving project he would complete by the end of this week. The shelving unit and the sliding ladder he’d constructed to reach its top shelves were a thing of beauty. With a fine sanding and another coat of high-gloss varnish, they’d be breathtaking.

And the final payment he would receive at the end of this week would allow him to breathe freely for the first time in months. The child-support check he’d written to Melissa last month had barely squeaked through his depleted checking account. Without this infusion of cash, the next check would hit bottom with a big clunk. The very thought of what would ensue if that happened gave him heartburn.

But all would be well once—

His cell rang with Sean’s ringtone. Quinn took his eyes off the road just long enough to grab it and answer. “Hey, Sean!” His voice sounded too hearty, too happy to hear his son’s voice. He cleared his throat and toned down his next words. “How’s everything going?”

“Fine. Mom said you’ve been blowing up my phone. I was outside mowing the grass. I’m earning money so I’ll have plenty to spend this weekend.”

A trickle of foreboding made Quinn clench the steering wheel. “You won’t need any money when you’re with me, dude! You know that. I’ve got your room all ready, and I’m planning for us to—”

“Dad, my friends and me—”

“Excuse me? Your friends and who?”

“My friends and I”—Sean corrected himself with a huff of annoyance—“have been invited to go to a game in New Orleans this weekend. We’ll get to stay in a fancy hotel and eat out and everything. It’s all paid for except for whatever souvenirs we want to buy. Mom said she didn’t think you’d mind if we swap out for the weekend after this.”

Quinn gritted his teeth. They’d already swapped out so many weekends that Quinn only saw Sean about half the time he was supposed to. “That sounds like fun, but I have a lot of fun things planned for us, too, and I haven’t seen you in—”

“So now you’re guilt-tripping me, Dad? Really? You think that’s going to make me want to come and see you more than I do already? All my friends are going. If you say no, I’ll be the only one who doesn’t get to go.”

Quinn could just see Sean’s reaction if forced to spend the weekend with him. He’d simmer and fume and isolate himself, playing solo video games and texting woe-is-me texts to his friends who were out having fun. “Fine,” he capitulated. “Go ahead and have fun with your friends this weekend. Just please save next weekend for me, okay?”

He hated the pitiful sound of rejection he heard in his own voice, so he tried to lighten the tone of both his voice and the conversation. “How was school today? It’s final exam week, yeah?” The second the words left his mouth, he realized his change of topic would be an epic disaster.

“I’m not failing, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, Son. I just want to know what’s going on in your life. If I can’t see you in person, I’d at least like to talk to you on the phone.”

“Yeah, Dad.” Sarcasm dripped from Sean’s words. “Sure.”

“I picked a bad subject, I guess. What would you like to talk about? How’s your girlfriend… What’s her name? Jenny?”

“We’re not dating anymore, and her name is Jenea, not Jenny.”

Strike three—or was it strike four?