Running Lean by Diana L. Sharples Page B

this afternoon?”
    Dad kept his eyes forward. “Where you going?”
    “To see Stacey.”
    “Easter. We spend it as a family. And she should be with hers.”
    Calvin huffed and settled back against the wooden pew. Stacey had said her parents went to church twice a year—Easter and Christmas. Maybe. Would they be bothered if their daughter went out this afternoon?
    Dad coughed, his fist against his mouth. “You can see her tomorrow. Think we need to talk later this afternoon, you and me.”
    A warning stiffened Calvin’s spine. Had Peyton said something to Dad? Calvin stared at the singer, tried to look like he was listening.
    He barely heard the words.
    After the service and the holiday greetings with other church members—the pastor and his wife, other elders of the church, and Mom’s friends in the women’s group along with a few regular customers from Dad’s automotive shop—Calvin’s family tumbled out to the parking lot and loaded into Mom’s nine-passenger van. Calvin sat in the back seat with Lizzie. All the way home, the boys in the middle row played some distorted version of rock-paper-scissors, which always seemed to favor Zachary and brought Jacob to whining tears again.
    Sitting next to Calvin, Lizzie dug in her purse for something then gave up with a sigh. “I heard Dad say he wanted to talk to you. You in trouble?”
    Calvin guessed she couldn’t find her iPod to shut out the noise and decided to talk to him instead. Nice. He answered with a shrug.
    “Want to hide in my room? He’ll never look for you there.”
    Calvin grunted. “Tempting. If I can stand an overdose of boy band singers. Pro’bly get a rash.”
    Lizzie’s chin jutted upward with her snort. “You could learn a few things from those guys.”
    “Like what? How to make tweenie girls sigh? I could get arrested for that. Child endangerment.”
    “You wish. You’re the least dangerous guy I know.”
    He resisted a smile. “Think so? We’ll see.”
    “Don’t even think about it.”
    Calvin looked out the side window like he was too cool for the conversation. “It’s on now, sister.”
    She groaned. “See if I try to be nice to you again.”
    Easter supper happened early in the afternoon, with grandparents, aunts and uncles, and some cousins joining them. Vegetable casseroles and creamy salads surrounded Mom’s roast lamb on the table, and everyone served themselves buffet style. Calvin filled his plate like all the others, but stared at it for a long time. His stomach rumbled. His mouth watered. His mind argued that the food would taste delicious and make him happy, but his heart wouldn’t let him take more than a few bites.
    Was Stacey doing the same? Is this what she felt when she sat down to a meal? Perched on the front steps with his plate on his knees, Calvin tried to analyze the reasons for his lack of appetite. It was just feeling sad and worried, right? He’d yet to hear anyone mention Michael’s name, but his absence created a gaping hole. Added to that, the problem with Stacey kept tugging at his thoughts, no matter what he did. And the sight of Peyton with her fiancé—whosomehow was excluded from the “family only” regulation—acting as if nothing had happened last night set Calvin’s anger on a low simmer. It was enough stuff to kill anyone’s appetite.
    What was Stacey upset about? What wasn’t she telling him?
    Yeah, secrets. That’s what I needed to be thinking about right now
.
    He made himself finish the food on his plate, so he wouldn’t offend any of the chefs. Aunt Sally, who’d brought her “famous” butternut squash casserole, would take it quite personally if she didn’t go home tonight with a bowl scraped clean of every last bit of baked-on cheese.
    Inside the house, the kids were crashing or cranky from too much Easter basket candy, and the adults were settling down in every available chair with loosened belts and half-lidded eyes. Calvin disposed of his plastic plate and drink cup