Rafe said, “I saw Uncle Tony scratch his armpit once, and when we were playing baseball, he was standing out in center field and he scratched—”
Rob cut his brother off. “Not in front of Ruth.”
“You’re right, Rob, too much information,” Ruth said, and saluted him with her glass of tea.
Dix scooped another spoonful of green beans onto his son’s plate. “Eat and don’t smash them in front of your bottom teeth.”
Rafe shot his father a wary look and said faster than Brewster could swing his tail, “I went to see Mr. Fulton, you know, see where we might stand with his hiring me, you know, when my report card comes out.”
“This is a hardware store, right?” Ruth asked.
Rafe nodded. “Mr. Fulton said only six days had passed and nothing was any different at his store, and when would I have proof that my grades are up in English and biology.”
Brewster was trying to climb Ruth’s leg. She leaned down to pet his head and slipped him a bit of hot dog. But Brewster wasn’t hungry, he wanted attention. He rubbed the hot dog on her shoe until she had to lift her feet off the floor to avoid him. The boys laughed until she scooped Brewster up and hugged him against her chest. “What are you up to, smearing hot dog all over my shoe, making everybody laugh at me? I thought you were my hero.”
“Some hero,” Rob said, piling more potato salad on his plate. “Brewster was so small when he was a puppy we were afraid we might roll over on him during the night and squash him.”
Dix chuckled, one eye on Brewster. “He was hero enough to find Ruth. I’ve rolled over on Brewster myself and he’s survived. Now, Rafe, what did Mr. Fulton say about the job?”
Rafe swallowed a mouthful of hot dog bun. “Mr. Fulton asked me to spell ‘valedictorian.’ That wasn’t fair, Dad.”
“Did you even attempt it?” Ruth asked.
“Yeah, I did. I missed the e in the middle. It wasn’t fair,” he repeated.
His father said, “I gather Mr. Fulton didn’t hire you?”
“He told me to bring him my next report card. Then he’d speak to you again.”
“Stup Fulton is full of surprises,” Dix said to Ruth.
“Ah, he asked me what you’re doing about all this violent stuff, Dad. I told him you and the three FBI agents are working real hard on it. He just harrumphed.” He looked down at his plate. This time his voice was as thin as the kitchen curtains. “And there’s the kids at school. They’re saying that you’re not as good as everyone says you are, that everyone in town’s getting murdered.”
“Well,” Dix said, “you don’t look banged up so I guess you didn’t get into any fights.”
“It was close,” Rafe muttered.
“I understand. But you managed to walk away?”
It was Rob who said, “Sure, Dad. Right.”
Ruth had noticed the bruise on Rob’s knuckles. It couldn’t have been all that bad a fight if his knuckles weren’t skinned. She smiled brightly. “Hey, I saw a baseball and glove in the hallway. Who’s the Barry Bonds?”
Rob said eagerly, “Me. Didn’t Dad tell you I’m going to be the starting pitcher on the high-school team?”
“Sorry, Rob, I didn’t, but I sure intended to.” Not that Rob really cared whether he had, Dix thought as Rob rushed on. “The thing is, Ruth, I’m only a sophomore. Billy Caruthers started last year as a junior, and he’s totally pissed the coach picked me.”
Dix gave his son a long look.
Rob cleared his throat. “Ah, Dad, everyone says it. Okay, Billy Caruthers was being a jerk—”
Dix said, “Rob, remember how your mom once washed out your mouth with soap? That real strong soap that could peel the skin right off your hands?”
Rob stared down at his plate. “Yeah, I remember. It burned off all my nose hair.”
“You got the soap twice, Rob,” Rafe said, poking his brother’s arm.
“You should have, too,” Rob said, and lifted his fist toward his brother.
Dix said, “Boys?” in a quiet voice, and they stopped dead in their tracks. “Good. Rob, finish it up now.”
“Okay, he was so mad he looked like he was gonna burst.”
Dix gave him a thumbs-up. “I’ll give that a pass.”
Ruth raised her glass. “Here’s to the next Derek Lowe.”
“Hear! Hear!” Dix drank down the rest of his tea. “You guys ready for some bread pudding?”