"Loretta's daughter."
"Ah."
"And then there was my dad, no help as usual." I lowered my voice in a decent imitation of him. "Loretta spent all morning in the kitchen making this for us, and the least you kids can do is have some."
"So did you?"
I nodded.
"How was it?" he asked.
I shuddered. "Awful. Like fish-barf."
"But your dad likes it?"
"Nope."
"So he doesn't eat it."
"Nope."
Lawton was shaking his head. "I don't get it."
"Don't get me wrong," I said. "He'd probably eat a smoking turd if Loretta asked him to."
"Better than fish barf," Lawton said.
"On second thought," I said, "you know what? He wouldn’t eat it. He'd makeusdo it. That way, he gets the credit, and we get the shaft."
I glanced again at Lawton. His expression was stony, but his tone was carefully neutral as he said, "SoLorettalikes the gravy?"
"I dunno," I said. "Couldn’t tell you either way. She's always on a diet. So it's not like she actually eats the stuff herself. Mostly, she just picks at a salad or something and goes straight for dessert."
Lawton's eyebrows furrowed. "So this gravy, who exactly was supposed to eat it?"
I shrugged. "Me and Josh, I guess."
There was no trace of humor as he said, "Go on."
"So like I said, there's no getting out of it. At least not for me. So I put some on my potatoes, and take a bite."
"And?"
"Like I said, it's awful." I swallowed at the memory. "Worse than awful actually. But I know what I've got to do, so I smile and tell her it's delicious."
"Was she happy?"
"Loretta?" I said. "Never. But at least she's not throwing plates. So I keep shoveling it down, figuring that once it's gone, the whole thing's over, right?"
"It wasn't?"
"No," I said, glancing out the window. "It was just beginning."
Chapter 57
His voice was very quiet in the noisy car. "What happened next?"
"So Josh," I said, "he's a picky eater. Always has been. And no matter how many times my dad tells him that something's a delicacy, he still doesn't want anything to do with it."
