“So …”

“I’m thinking about it.”

More silence. It stayed like that all the way to the house. He was thinking about more than football.

We pulled into the drive but Sagan made no move to open his door.

“We’re home son,” I said.

“Just one question,” he said. “Is Mrs. Waymire mad at me?”

“No way. You know she loves you.” I left off the “as much as me,” but Carolyn did care about Sagan, did love him in her way; she was just more cautious. “You have to balance things,” she liked to say.

I could see him loosen up as he grabbed his bag from the backseat and make for the door. It was dawning on him he was free again and would sleep in his own bed tonight.

Inside, I flipped on the lights and Sagan called out for Carolyn: “Mrs. Waymire! … Mrs. Waymire.”

“She’s not here,” I said.

“She at a meeting or something?”

“No, she’s with the kids at her mother’s … for a few days. You know, using the pool, fishing in the river. Boating. Summer won‘t last forever.”

“Not because of me?’

“Heavens no,” I laughed. But the grimace was back on his face. “Oh!” I said, knowing I was trying too hard but unable to stop myself, “there was something else I wanted to tell you that Scotty said, you know after the incident, about how being a freshman this year he was afraid of maybe getting picked on but figured he‘d just say, ‘better watch it man; you know Sagan, he’s like my brother, lives in my house, and I’ll tell him what you did,’ and the bullies would leave him alone.”

Sagan forced a smile and looked down at his feet.

“Not that I’m encouraging you to get in fights.”

“I guess I’ll go to my room. I didn’t sleep too well the past few days.”

“Who could?” I said.

Minutes later, as I rocked in the big wooden chair, the music began in his room. I couldn’t make out what it was but I could feel the rhythm pulsing through the door. I rocked myself to sleep, waking at 2 a.m. Silence in the house. I went to bed, giving myself a pass on brushing my teeth.

But once in bed, I couldn’t sleep. I tiptoed into Sagan’s room. He was sleeping on top of his comforter, fully dressed. I pulled off his shoes and turned out the lights. I was awake now so I brushed my teeth, stripped down and climbed back in bed.

The last I remember before falling asleep it was 3:30 a.m. I had made a thorough analysis of popcorn ceilings without ever figuring the point of the popcorn. Mine needed a good coat of paint; that much I knew. I also knew I had problems coming my way. The “palace guard,” as the editor named them, was up to something. It bothered me that Carolyn had been gone two days without calling. I was afraid her mother was drawing her into the conspiracy. Something was coming my way, and whatever it was, it wouldn’t be something you could cover up with a coat of paint.

The phone woke me at 8:02 a.m. I got to it just before it went to voice mail. I hoped it was Carolyn but it was the District Superintendent. “Dietrich?“ he said. “I know it’s early. Hope I didn’t wake you. I know your father was an early riser. Always has been … going way back to when we were at seminary together … figured you were too.”

I smelled that same mush of phony joviality I had fed Sagan the night before.

“Well, actually I had a hard time sleeping last night and you did wake me but …”

“ … I’m sorry; you want me to call back in a little while?”

“No … well, yea … give me a chance to go to the bathroom; put on some coffee -- you know -- greet the morning. Then I‘ll call you.”

His demeanor turned suddenly serious. “Sure Pastor. But be sure to call ASAP. We have some important things to talk about.”

I hung up and went toward the bathroom. “So here we go,” I thought. “This is not going to be the kind of mess you can just paint over.”