I.
Patrick Teague sat in the corner of the donut shop, sipping coffee.
He found these swim meets very stressful, not only because he was in charge of making sure that everything transpired smoothly, but because his own daughter was one of the participants.
When Cheryl had told him that one of their volunteers had called in sick, but that she had managed to find a replacement, she had said, “Her name is Amanda Sutton. She’s experienced – she was a volunteer last year, when she was a sophomore at the university here. She’s agreed to come for the week.”
Teague had said, “Why did she stop volunteering? Burn out?”
“No, she dropped out of college, and went back home to Bimini to scuba dive for a living.”
Teague had clamped his teeth together. Not knowing that Amanda and her two sisters had formed a business and actually *was scuba diving for a living, he assumed that what Cheryl meant was that the girl had abandoned her studies to waste her time scuba diving, while living with parents who would support her.
Teague hated that. As the father of a child who beamed with joy and pride every time she accomplished something that was easy for those who were not developmentally disabled, he was filled with anger every time he saw someone with no disabilities throwing their lives away – foregoing an education to spend their time playing computer games, or watching TV while drinking themselves senseless, and whining about how poorly they were paid in their dead-end jobs.
Then, when Amanda had been late arriving on her first day, this had fueled his anger even more. He thought that she was taking her responsibilities very lightly.
She hadn’t made excuses, which he had liked. People who tried to excuse their mistakes instead of admitting them annoyed him. And she’d been very professional in her duties yesterday, and very patient and enthusiastic with the athletes; he’d liked seeing that.
His cellphone rang. He looked at the caller ID. It was his ex-wife, Cindy. Teague sighed, and raised his eyes skyward. Talk about someone who was frittering away their life… As he lifted the phone to his ear and said, “Hello, Cindy,” he caught sight of Amanda Sutton, stepping to the counter.
“Patrick,” said Cindy, “You’ve got to help me. My car won’t start, I can’t get a cab, and I’ve got an important appointment in a half hour.”
“Cindy, I’m working here. There’s a tournament going on.”
Cindy sniffed. “Patrick, you’ve got dozens of people handling that swim meet – you don’t need to be there every minute. And you’ll be back in less than an hour if you leave right now.”
Teague suppressed a sigh. The meet didn’t start for another hour…he should be back in time. And if she had an important appointment…maybe she had a job interview!
“All right, Cindy, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
The call from Cindy drove everything from Teague’s mind – he had to get to her quickly, drive her wherever she wanted to go, and get back – and he walked out, completely forgetting that Amanda was even in the building.
II.
An hour later, Teague arrived at the swimming pool, seething.
The important appointment his ex-wife had had was with a hairdresser. A hairdresser.
Oh…she hadn’t been lying, much. To her, an appointment with a hairdresser was important. Certainly more important than a swimming competition in which her own daughter was competing.
And now, he was five minutes late. Which would have been just barely excusable except he’d been rather snippy with that Amanda Sutton yesterday about the same thing.
Huh, thought Teague sourly. His ex-wife and Amanda Sutton. Two peas in a pod.
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