Saint Maybe - Anne Tyler [62]
But Agatha said, “What are you talking about? She didn’t even know how to drive!”
“I must’ve mixed her up with someone else,” he said.
But the car-pool lady stayed on in his mind—someone like other children had, waiting for him in a brown station wagon with wood-grained panels on the sides and a rear compartment full of tennis-ball cans and lacrosse sticks.
“The best thing is, Agatha’s brought us something having to do with our faith,” Sister Myra said. “She listened to what Reverend Emmett talked about at Juice Time and then she brought something related to that. Very nice, Agatha.”
Agatha nodded and sat down in her chair. When Thomas passed the mustard seed to Jason, he felt he was parting with a piece of himself, like an arm.
* * *
The Bible verse for the day came from the Forty-second Psalm: As the hart panteth after the water brooks … First Sister Myra explained what it meant. “Does everyone know what a hart is? Anyone? Anyone at all?” Then she helped them memorize it, breaking the verse into phrases that they repeated after her. This was all in preparation for the Bible Bee, which was a kind of spelldown that happened every Friday. Sometimes they competed against other camps—last week, Lamb of God from Cockeysville. Lamb of God had won.
After Bible Verse it was time for Morning Swim. The girls changed upstairs in Beth’s room and the boys changed in the workshop off the rec room. They met in the backyard. At first the sun felt wonderful, soaking into Thomas’s chilled skin, and then all at once it felt too hot, way too hot, so that he was glad to race the others to the pool and clamber up the three wooden steps and drop into the lukewarm water. Sister Myra was the lifeguard. She stood hip-deep with her swimsuit skirt floating out around her and tried to make the boys stop splashing the girls. Sister Audrey watched the baby pool, which was an inflatable rubber dish nearby. She wore her same tank top and cutoffs and didn’t even remove her flip-flops but sat high and dry in a folding chair she’d dragged out, smiling or else squinting at the little ones as they sailed their toy boats and poured water from their tin buckets.
Jason said the Dumpster had been parked behind the stadium, but Dermott said Mondawmin Mall.
After their swim they sat down for lunch at two redwood picnic tables on the patio. That way they didn’t drip across Sister Myra’s floors; they’d be dry before they’d finished eating. It was Mindy’s turn to ask the blessing (not a chance Dermott Kyle would get another turn, not after last time!), and then they had bologna sandwiches and milk. Dessert was little foil packets of salted peanuts because Sister Myra’s husband worked for a company that made airplane meals and he got a special discount. By now they’d used up all their energy and they were quieter. Daphne fell asleep with her head on the table halfway through her sandwich. Thomas pumped a mouthful of milk from one cheek to the other to hear the swishing sound. Dermott asked, dreamily, “Does everybody see flashes of white light while they’re chewing tinfoil?”
Still in their swimsuits, they were herded downstairs (Daphne sagging over Sister Myra’s shoulder), where they unrolled their blankets from home and stretched out on the floor for their naps. Sister Myra sat in a chair above them and read aloud from the Bible-story book with its queerly lightweight paper and orange drawings: “The Boy Jesus in the Temple,” today. (How rude He was to his parents! But there must be some excuse for it that Thomas was still too young to understand.) The idea was, the little ones would sleep and the older ones would just rest and listen to the story. Thomas always meant to just rest, but Sister Myra’s low voice mingled with the creaks overhead where Sister Audrey was