Part 128 (1/2)

”The boy doesn't eat right since he moved out.” Pleased to have both men

at her table, Marge filled the coffee cups. ”You're skin and bones,

Michael. I've got the best part of a nice ham I cooked earlier in the

week. You take it home with you.”

”Don't give this deadbeat my ham,” Lou objected.

Michael lifted a brow, then doused the remaining pancakes with Aunt

Jemima. ”Who you calling a deadbeat?”

”You lost the bet, but I don't see my gra.s.s getting mowed.”

”I'll get to it,” Michael grumbled and s.n.a.t.c.hed another sausage. ”I

think that game was fixed.”

”The Orioles won, fair and square. And they won over a month ago. Pay

up.”

Michael gestured with the sausage. It was a conversation they'd had

every weekend since the World Series, and one they would undoubtedly

continue to have until the first of the year when the bet would be paid

in full.

”As a police captain you should be aware that gambling's illegal.”

”As a rookie, a.s.signed to my precinct, you should have better sense than

to make a sucker bet. Mower's in the shed.”

”I know where it is.” He rose, swung an arm over his mother's shoulder.

”How do you live with this guy?”

”It isn't easy.” Marge smiled and patted Michael's cheek. ”Be sure to

be careful with that weed whacker around the rosebushes, dear.”

She watched him go out, slamming the screen door as he had always done.

For a moment she wished he could be ten again, but that feeling pa.s.sed

quickly, leaving a quiet pride. ”We did a good job, Lou.”