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punishment?”
“It is something we should have done years ago.”
“Patsy, please. I know you feel bad about what you found out, but an awkward dinner party
isn't going to change anything!”
My mother ran syrup all over her pancakes, popped the top closed, licked her finger, then
locked eyes with my dad. “We are having the Bakers
over for dinner.”
And that, she didn't have to tell him, was that.
Dad took a deep breath, then sighed and said, “Whatever you want, Patsy. Just don't say I
didn't warn you.” He took a bite of hash browns and
mumbled, “A barbecue, I suppose?”
“No, Rick. A sit-down dinner. Like we have when your clients come over.”
He stopped chewing. “You're expecting them to dress up?”
Mom glared at him. “What I'm expecting is for you to behave like the gentleman I always
thought you were.”
Dad went back to his potatoes. Definitely safer than arguing with Mom.
Lynetta wound up eating the entire white of a fried egg and almost a whole pancake besides.
Plain, of course, but from the way she was glutting
and giggling as she ate, it was obvious that at least she was in a good mood.
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Granddad ate plenty, even for him, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking. He was back to
looking more granite than human. Me, I'd started tuning
in to the fact that this dinner could be more than awkward — it could be trouble. Those rotten
eggs were back from the grave, looming large and
smelly right over my head.
Sure, Granddad knew, but no one else in my family did. What if it came up at dinner? I'd be
dead, fried, cluck-faced meat.
Later, as I was brushing my teeth, I considered bribing Juli. Getting her on board so that
nobody brought up the subject of eggs. Or maybe I could
sabotage the dinner somehow. Make it not happen. Yeah, I could — I stopped myself and
looked in the mirror. What kind of wimp was I, anyway? I
spit and headed back to find my mom.
“What is it, honey?” she asked me as she wiped off the griddle. “You look worried.”
I double-checked to make sure my dad or Lynetta wasn't lurking around somewhere, then
whispered, “Will you swear to secrecy?”
She laughed. “I don't know about that.”
I just waited.
“What can be …,” she said, then looked at me and stopped cleaning. “Oh, it is serious.
Honey, what's wrong?”
It had been ages since I'd voluntarily fessed up about something to my mom. It just didn't
seem necessary anymore; I'd learned to deal with things
on my own. At least, that's what I'd thought. Until now.
She touched my arm and said, “Bryce, tell me. What is it?”
I hopped up to sit on the counter, then took a deep breath and said, “It's about Juli's eggs.”
“About her … eggs?”
“Yeah. Remember that whole chicken-hen-salmonella disaster?”
“That was quite a while ago, but sure….”
“Well, what you don't know is that Juli didn't bring eggs over just that once. She's been
bringing them over every week…or about that, anyway.”
“She has? Why didn't I know about this?”
