The Big Cat Nap

for good prices. Collision-repair shops indemnify their work.”
    “That means you’re not responsible?” Susan blurted out.
    “It means if they perform shoddy work, I can go after them. Even the best shops can have a lemon day, for lack of a better phrase. Insurance is more complex than you might think. The Code of Hammurabi mentions an insurance practice in 1750 B.C. ”
    Susan, sensing he was about to warm up to his pet subject, insurance history, diverted him. “Did you ever consider that love is a fire for which there is no insurance? Even if you crash and burn.”
    Dr. Yarbrough laughed, both because of the sentiment and because Susan had cut off the potential lecture of boring information.

O n Friday, June 1, the cool morning air refreshed Harry as she cut the endless lawn at St. Luke’s. At ten, the turquoise blue skies were dotted with cream cumulus clouds hovering over the emerald grasses. Once Harry adjusted to the zero-turn mower—her old belly-mount conventional mower had finally died after twenty-five years of cutting grass—she wondered how she’d ever lived without the new manner of mower. Instead of a steering wheel, the driver grasped two long handles, which could move forward and back. She could cut corners so much closer than with a conventional mower. Still she’d have to use an edger along the pathways and the special gardens lining those pathways, but the zero-turn saved so much time.
    Peonies, in full bloom this late in the season, crowded the long, brick-laid pathways. The gardening club of the church—now full of men as well as women, since gardening had become just about as competitive as grilling with some of them—created masses of white, pink, and magenta with the peonies. Harry marveled at how beautiful the grounds looked, regardless of season. Even in winter, the hollies shone with red berries, and pyracanthas grew up the side of Herb’s garage, providing a long-distance blast of orange, often against snow. While she liked gardening, she lacked the time to devote herself to it. Her focus was her crops, the foals, and working the horses. Wistfully, she looked down at the cemetery on the lower level, old cream-coloredclimbing roses spilling over the stone walls. If only she had more time.
    The scent of fresh-cut grass filled her, lifted her up. Something about fresh-cut hay and grass made Harry glad to be alive.
    Every now and then, Herb would look up from his desk to see one of his favorite parishioners out there mowing away.
    Chuckling to Elocution on his lap, he said, “See the pattern? She cuts in one direction, then comes back on the other. Takes longer, but Harry wants there to be a pleasing pattern. Her mother was like that. Well, she inherited her mother’s sense of beauty and her father’s practicality. Not a bad combination.”
    A thunk caused Harry to cut the motor.
    Once on her hands and knees, Harry saw that a hidden rock, part of it above ground but covered by the grass, had sheared off one of the bolts holding the belly mount. If she continued mowing, she’d scrape the earth and the cut would be uneven. Couldn’t have that.
    “Drat,” she muttered under her breath, then said aloud, “Well, I can fix it.”
    As she walked toward the administrative buildings on the quad, Herb leaned out the window.
    “What now?”
    “Sheared a pin. You wouldn’t happen to have spare parts?”
    “Don’t. We don’t have a zero-turn.”
    “Right. Well, I’ll head to the dealer.”
    “Go to Waynesboro. Better price.”
    “That’s the truth. Buy something in Charlottesville, add ten percent to the price. Herb, I’ll need to drive over there and fetch a pin. I promise I’ll get this all ready before Sunday. Actually, I think I can finish it today.”
    “I’ll drive you over there. It’s such a beautiful day. I’m getting antsy in the office,” Herb volunteered.
    “Okay.” Harry walked inside the administrative buildings from the back door, washed grease off her hands, then met Herb out front, for he’d already pulled his truck around.
    “Come on, girl. Time for an adventure, especially after your clean mammogram.” The older man grinned.
    “Word gets out.” Harry smiled back at him.
    “Your friends are very, very happy.”
    Handsome, overweight, the Very Reverend Jones was a barrel-chested man, not tall but impressively built. All through his high school and college years, the football coaches wanted him to play on the line. He preferred baseball