Boy ain't the brightest light in the harbor, is he, Sparrow muttered as he gently doctored the dog, Reckon it's time he understood that he ain't welcome here no more.
Remembering the last rock throwing incident - we'd been skipping stones into the waves and unaccountably Ruthie had been struck in the back of the head, not by a flat stone but by a chunk of rock as big as her fist and my brother was the only one behind her - I didn't imagine much would come of it. He'd denied he'd thrown it and gotten no punishment although Ruthie's scalp was badly lacerated and had bled as Nana said, Like a sum bitch. The current young doctor had put in six stitches and Ruthie had headaches all the rest of the summer.
He says he wasn't the one who threw it, my mother insisted stubbornly.
Child might've been killed! Nana had snapped furiously, And there weren't nobody else! You 'spose there's a goddam rock fairy down on that beach?
He says he wasn't the one, my mother repeated, her face dark, sullen, defensive.
Boy's mean as a goddam snake, Jan, my grandmother warned her, and you're the only one who don't see it!
The decidedly chilly atmosphere worsened after supper when Sparrow came calling. The women listened - my mother with cold detachment and denial, my grandmother with clear sympathy - while my brother stood silent and white faced with rage. Nothing I knew of this troubled, middle child was good and I was sure he was already planning his revenge for being caught. Several days later, John Sullivan's bait shack was broken into and a portion of his trawl lines cut. That same day, Sparrow's old hound dog, who never ventured far from the veranda and never, ever off the property had a sudden bout of coughing blood and came frighteningly close to choking to death. It took Sparrow and John together to subdue him and they pulled two baited fish hooks from his throat.
Jeanette, Sparrow told my mother through the screen door, I ain't gonna say this but once. If your boy comes within fifty feet of me or my dog again, I swear to Christ I'll fill his sorry ass with buckshot and be glad of the chance. You rein him in or else, you hear?
Too shocked for words, my mother slammed the door and stumbled to the liquor cabinet. It was Nana who climbed the stairs, locked my brother in his room, and hid the key. I'd been hoping she'd beat him within an inch of his life but I settled for a week of solitary confinement.
He came out angry, unrepentant and unchanged.
My grandmother sat him down and after telling him to wipe the smirk off his face, laid down one single new rule. The next time, she told him coldly, she'd ship his sorry ass home - she'd put him on the plane herself - and he would never be allowed back. There was no doubt, even to him, that she meant every word. When my mother protested, Nana silenced her with a look and a few carefully chosen words.
This is my house, Jan, she said flatly, and I'll decide who's welcome and who's not. Includin' you. Mind me, 'cause I ain't gonna say it again.
What was left of the summer turned fragile. Mother and daughter reached a frail but mostly preservable truce and my brother, shaken up at long last, was smart enough to keep his head down and stay out of everyone's way. By the time my daddy arrived for the the first half of his one week vacation, we had pretty much restored the pretense of an intact family.
Practice, as the saying goes, makes perfect.
Remembering the last rock throwing incident - we'd been skipping stones into the waves and unaccountably Ruthie had been struck in the back of the head, not by a flat stone but by a chunk of rock as big as her fist and my brother was the only one behind her - I didn't imagine much would come of it. He'd denied he'd thrown it and gotten no punishment although Ruthie's scalp was badly lacerated and had bled as Nana said, Like a sum bitch. The current young doctor had put in six stitches and Ruthie had headaches all the rest of the summer.
He says he wasn't the one who threw it, my mother insisted stubbornly.
Child might've been killed! Nana had snapped furiously, And there weren't nobody else! You 'spose there's a goddam rock fairy down on that beach?
He says he wasn't the one, my mother repeated, her face dark, sullen, defensive.
Boy's mean as a goddam snake, Jan, my grandmother warned her, and you're the only one who don't see it!
The decidedly chilly atmosphere worsened after supper when Sparrow came calling. The women listened - my mother with cold detachment and denial, my grandmother with clear sympathy - while my brother stood silent and white faced with rage. Nothing I knew of this troubled, middle child was good and I was sure he was already planning his revenge for being caught. Several days later, John Sullivan's bait shack was broken into and a portion of his trawl lines cut. That same day, Sparrow's old hound dog, who never ventured far from the veranda and never, ever off the property had a sudden bout of coughing blood and came frighteningly close to choking to death. It took Sparrow and John together to subdue him and they pulled two baited fish hooks from his throat.
Jeanette, Sparrow told my mother through the screen door, I ain't gonna say this but once. If your boy comes within fifty feet of me or my dog again, I swear to Christ I'll fill his sorry ass with buckshot and be glad of the chance. You rein him in or else, you hear?
Too shocked for words, my mother slammed the door and stumbled to the liquor cabinet. It was Nana who climbed the stairs, locked my brother in his room, and hid the key. I'd been hoping she'd beat him within an inch of his life but I settled for a week of solitary confinement.
He came out angry, unrepentant and unchanged.
My grandmother sat him down and after telling him to wipe the smirk off his face, laid down one single new rule. The next time, she told him coldly, she'd ship his sorry ass home - she'd put him on the plane herself - and he would never be allowed back. There was no doubt, even to him, that she meant every word. When my mother protested, Nana silenced her with a look and a few carefully chosen words.
This is my house, Jan, she said flatly, and I'll decide who's welcome and who's not. Includin' you. Mind me, 'cause I ain't gonna say it again.
What was left of the summer turned fragile. Mother and daughter reached a frail but mostly preservable truce and my brother, shaken up at long last, was smart enough to keep his head down and stay out of everyone's way. By the time my daddy arrived for the the first half of his one week vacation, we had pretty much restored the pretense of an intact family.
Practice, as the saying goes, makes perfect.
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