speedometer. “I’m only going forty-three miles an hour.”
“Yes, but the speed limit is only forty miles an hour. We don’t need to be speed-freaks, especially when we’ve got the boys in the car on the way to church.”
He depressed the brake ever so slightly and the car slowed to thirty-nine miles per hour.
Peggy Jean smiled and gave his knee a little pat.
The Divinity Center was a nice, clean, contemporary church with colorful stained glass windows depicting various saints and uplifting words such as “hope,” “joy,” “peace,” and “love.” It had a modern P.A. system so one wasn’t forced to strain in order to hear the sermon. And this church didn’t make the boys sneeze like the musty old church they used to attend.
At first, Peggy Jean had been angry with the boys, believing their sneezing was deliberate and mischievous. Then she took them to see an allergist who determined, after many needle pricks, that the boys were, indeed, allergic to certain molds. As soon as they changed churches, the sneezing stopped. But Peggy Jean insisted they still have booster shots on a monthly basis, as prevention.
This Sunday’s sermon was about separating “needs” from “wants,” and how important it was that needs were met and wants were curbed. While Peggy Jean sat with a pleasant smile on her face, hands folded on her lap, listening to Father Quigley, her husband was looking two pews ahead and slightly to the left, at his neighbor’s seventeen-year-old daughter, Nikki.
He was thinking that Nikki would make an excellent baby-sitter for the boys. He was also thinking her hair was exactly the color of honey. At one point, the girl turned around to adjust her bra strap. She spotted Mr. Smythe looking at her and gave him a shy smile before looking away.
After church, the family walked to the McDonald’s next door, a favorite Sunday ritual. The boys were each allowed one Happy Meal. Peggy Jean ordered a Filet-O-Fish with extra tarter sauce. And her husband had a double Quarter Pounder, despite the fact that Peggy Jean thought a half pound was just too much meat. After carrying the red plastic tray over to a table, the family sat down and joined hands. Peggy Jean closed her eyes and led the family in a small prayer. “Dear Lord, we are so grateful for this food and for our good health. We know we are blessed and take pity on those less fortunate than ourselves. Amen.”
“I got a machine gun!” the middle Smythe boy cried when he opened his Happy Meal.
The youngest boy tore into his meal. “Mine’s an axe!”
Ricky, the oldest, rolled his eyes and frowned, tossing his toy plastic gas mask on the table. He felt way too old to be at McDonald’s with his parents, eating a Happy Meal.
After the family had finished eating and were preparing to leave, the youngest boy noticed a dirty man in ragged clothes standing in front of the restaurant. “Look, Mom, it’s a bag man.”
Peggy Jean bent down so that she was at his eye level. “We don’t call them ‘bag men’ anymore, sweetheart. They’re called The Homeless .” Peggy Jean opened her purse and pulled out a quarter from the change compartment of her wallet. “And we need to help The Homeless whenever we can.”
As the family left the restaurant, the man held out his hand and said, “Help me get something to eat?”
Peggy Jean smiled and placed the quarter in the man’s hand, saying “You’re welcome” as she did.
The family began to walk toward the car, but the man cried out after her, “One lousy fucking quarter? What the hell am I supposed to get with one lousy fucking quarter, you bitch?”
Peggy Jean quickened her pace. All three boys turned around to look at the man, who was waving the quarter in the air above his head and shouting.
“Cunt!” he screamed. “Whore!” He threw the quarter at her.
“ Don’t look back at him,” she scolded her boys.
Inside the car, the youngest Smythe boy asked his mother, “What’s
“Yes, but the speed limit is only forty miles an hour. We don’t need to be speed-freaks, especially when we’ve got the boys in the car on the way to church.”
He depressed the brake ever so slightly and the car slowed to thirty-nine miles per hour.
Peggy Jean smiled and gave his knee a little pat.
The Divinity Center was a nice, clean, contemporary church with colorful stained glass windows depicting various saints and uplifting words such as “hope,” “joy,” “peace,” and “love.” It had a modern P.A. system so one wasn’t forced to strain in order to hear the sermon. And this church didn’t make the boys sneeze like the musty old church they used to attend.
At first, Peggy Jean had been angry with the boys, believing their sneezing was deliberate and mischievous. Then she took them to see an allergist who determined, after many needle pricks, that the boys were, indeed, allergic to certain molds. As soon as they changed churches, the sneezing stopped. But Peggy Jean insisted they still have booster shots on a monthly basis, as prevention.
This Sunday’s sermon was about separating “needs” from “wants,” and how important it was that needs were met and wants were curbed. While Peggy Jean sat with a pleasant smile on her face, hands folded on her lap, listening to Father Quigley, her husband was looking two pews ahead and slightly to the left, at his neighbor’s seventeen-year-old daughter, Nikki.
He was thinking that Nikki would make an excellent baby-sitter for the boys. He was also thinking her hair was exactly the color of honey. At one point, the girl turned around to adjust her bra strap. She spotted Mr. Smythe looking at her and gave him a shy smile before looking away.
After church, the family walked to the McDonald’s next door, a favorite Sunday ritual. The boys were each allowed one Happy Meal. Peggy Jean ordered a Filet-O-Fish with extra tarter sauce. And her husband had a double Quarter Pounder, despite the fact that Peggy Jean thought a half pound was just too much meat. After carrying the red plastic tray over to a table, the family sat down and joined hands. Peggy Jean closed her eyes and led the family in a small prayer. “Dear Lord, we are so grateful for this food and for our good health. We know we are blessed and take pity on those less fortunate than ourselves. Amen.”
“I got a machine gun!” the middle Smythe boy cried when he opened his Happy Meal.
The youngest boy tore into his meal. “Mine’s an axe!”
Ricky, the oldest, rolled his eyes and frowned, tossing his toy plastic gas mask on the table. He felt way too old to be at McDonald’s with his parents, eating a Happy Meal.
After the family had finished eating and were preparing to leave, the youngest boy noticed a dirty man in ragged clothes standing in front of the restaurant. “Look, Mom, it’s a bag man.”
Peggy Jean bent down so that she was at his eye level. “We don’t call them ‘bag men’ anymore, sweetheart. They’re called The Homeless .” Peggy Jean opened her purse and pulled out a quarter from the change compartment of her wallet. “And we need to help The Homeless whenever we can.”
As the family left the restaurant, the man held out his hand and said, “Help me get something to eat?”
Peggy Jean smiled and placed the quarter in the man’s hand, saying “You’re welcome” as she did.
The family began to walk toward the car, but the man cried out after her, “One lousy fucking quarter? What the hell am I supposed to get with one lousy fucking quarter, you bitch?”
Peggy Jean quickened her pace. All three boys turned around to look at the man, who was waving the quarter in the air above his head and shouting.
“Cunt!” he screamed. “Whore!” He threw the quarter at her.
“ Don’t look back at him,” she scolded her boys.
Inside the car, the youngest Smythe boy asked his mother, “What’s
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