Stil , the donut was his way of not giving in completely.
In front of me, Mom set down a stack of two of her light and fluffy pancakes, smothered in butter and syrup, with two slices of bacon on the side.
She rounded the table carrying a plate and set it in front of Hank.
“There you go, Hank. Eat hearty,” she said, patting him on the shoulder and returning Dad’s glare.
I looked at Hank’s plate. On it was an enormous stack of five pancakes and half a dozen rashers of bacon.
Hank stared at it for a second, not quite able to hide his surprise, before his eyes lifted to mine.
I gritted my teeth.
“Mom!” I snapped. “The entire offensive line of the Chicago Bears could not eat that much food.” Dad looked at Hank’s plate, then his eyes went to Mom.
“Jesus, Trish. You’re gonna put the boy in a food coma.
He’s a cop, he needs to stay alert.”
I looked to Dad.
“Would you two quit cal ing Hank a boy? He’s a grown man, for goodness sakes.”
“He’s your brother’s age, Roxanne Gisel e, therefore, he’s a boy to me,” Dad returned in his Dad Voice.
I gave up and looked to Hank.
“You don’t have to eat al that,” I told him.
Mom sat down with her own plate and got al mother on Hank.
“Yes you do. You need to keep your strength up.” I frowned at Mom. “He’s not recovering from pneumonia.
Trust me, he does not need any help keeping his strength up.”
Dad burst out laughing.
Hank sat back in his chair and grinned at me.
“Don’t be lippy,” Mom said to me then turned to Hank.
“She’s always been lippy. Came out bawling and never shut up. I’ve spent thirty-one years of my life tearing my hair out because of her lip.”
“Like mother, like daughter,” Dad mumbled into his donut.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mom snapped at Dad.
“Nothin’,” Dad was stil mumbling but his eyes slid to Hank and he rol ed them.
“Do not rol your eyes at Hank, Herb. What’s he going to think of us?” Mom clipped.
That’s a good question. I thought.
“Figure the boy needs to know early what he’s gettin’
himself into,” Dad told Mom then looked at Hank. “Take my advice, son, run. Run for the hil s.”
Mom’s eyes bugged out and her fork clattered to her plate. “Do not tel him to run for the hil s! Sweet Jesus!” she cal ed to the ceiling and then looked at Hank. “We’ve been waiting a long time for Roxie to get herself a good man, a decent man. Thank the Good Sweet Lord you’re sitting right here. She’s a good girl, Roxie. She’s a little wild but not anything you can’t tame, I’m sure of it,” Mom declared with authority.