“What were you thinking in there?” Catherine was almost whispering, even though she and Willard were at the opposite end of the house from the boys. Willard shrugged and sipped his coffee. “I didn’t think it really mattered that much. Just this once.” Catherine shook her head. “But after they were punished for fighting over the game….” “Punished?” “Having to put it away like that. We’ve never done that before. We’ve always given them at least one more chance. Then knuckling under to Sams….” “Knuckling under?” Catherine started. She heard anger in Willard’s voice, not right at the surface yet, but there nonetheless. She reached out and laid her hand on his. “Willard, what’s wrong? This isn’t like….” “Nothing,” he said curtly. Then he took a deep breath and sighed. “Nothing, really. I guess I was just tired. First that horrendous trip home—the freeway was like glass, the rain was so hard that the wipers could barely keep up, and red lights kept flashing right and left like crazy.
