Grayson peered up at him, assessing him.
“What, you don’t believe me?”
The kid responded by fixating on his tie.
“Trust me, there’s nothing wrong with your teeth. Your mom just says stuff like that because she’s a mom,” he said. “Moms can be a little strange, and I won’t lie to you kid—your mom may be a lot strange.” He extended his hand a little farther. “Come on, she’ll never know.”
Grayson took the peppermint, put it in his mouth, and smiled. Matt fished in his pocket again, pulled out a few more, and opened his palm. Grayson took four, unwrapped them, and popped them into his mouth along with the first, which was not exactly what Matt had intended, but the kid’s cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
Grayson smiled, flashing a peppermint instead of teeth.
“So what kind of games do you like?” Matt asked, smiling.
“Ooogeeah.”
“Ooogeeah?”
Grayson laughed, his lips and tongue peppermint red. “Yu-Gi-Oh! And Barbie.”
Matt’s testicles seized. “Barbie, huh? How come?”
Grayson shrugged. “I just like her,” he said through the mouthful of peppermints.
“You go to school, right?” Matt asked uncertainly. “What, second or third grade?”
“Preschool.”
“Cool.” He glanced over his shoulder again and started a little. As if she’d been summoned by some spooky maternal radar, Rebecca had turned around, was peering closely at them. And then she said something to Tom, started marching in their direction.
“Uh-oh,” muttered Grayson through his mouthful of peppermints, looking over his shoulder, too.
Uh-oh was right. “Okay, stay cool, buddy,” Matt muttered. “I got your back.”
Rebecca reached them as the announcer gave them the five-minute warning. She stood in front of them, her arms folded tightly, looked at Grayson first, then Matt. “So what’s going on?”
Grayson looked helplessly at Matt. “Hey!” Matt said, plastering a smile on his face, “We’re just a couple of guys hanging out. So, Vanna, don’t they need you up on stage?”
“Grayson?” she asked, ignoring Matt. The kid tried to be nonchalant about it, but his cheeks were bulging. Rebecca frowned at Matt, then leaned over her son, so that she was, literally, in his face, and held out her hand. “Spit it out.”
“Ah, come on, let him have it,” Matt whined as Grayson obediently spit out the five peppermints.
“One would have been okay, Grayson. But five?” She frowned at her son, but gave Matt a look that effectively put him on notice, and for a moment, he saw Tanya Kwitokowsky before him, arms folded, pinafore perfectly pressed. You’re in trouble, Matthew Parrish!
Rebecca very primly put the peppermints in a napkin.
“So this is family night for the Lears, huh?” Matt asked, feeling a little on the reprimanded side.
Still frowning, Rebecca asked, “You met Grandma?”
“Yes, I did. And she pointed out Grandpa, too.”
Rebecca winced. “The announcer didn’t show, so Grandpa stepped in.”
“So when is Tom up?” Matt asked.
Rebecca didn’t answer, just stepped over him and fell into Lil Stanton’s empty seat as her grandpa announced that the first game of the next session paid a double bonus for a bingo with an I-15, the response to which was a collective and appreciative gasp from the crowd that was beginning to filter back in, paper plates piled high with brisket, beans, and cole slaw. “Where’s Grandma?” she asked.
“Something about beans,” he said. “So about that campaign speech,” he continued, scooting over to Grayson’s seat, next to Rebecca, and ignoring the announcer and the gray hairs that were all atwitter over the I-15 twist. “When is that, by the way? Before or after the ballroom dancing?”
“During this session,” she said, and elbowed him in an apparent signal that he was to move over, which he refused to do. “Until then, you could make yourself useful and help me do this,” she said, perching on the end of her seat, taking one of the colored markers.
“But—”
Rebecca pierced him with another arresting blue-eyed look. “Matt. If you’ll just stop talking, I promise we’ll see if we can’t do your ballroom thing,” she said impatiently. “But Grandma will die if someone doesn’t watch her cards.”
Matt opened his mouth to speak and tell her it was a joke, that the last thing he would ever suggest was ballroom dancing, for heaven’s sake, and that they really just needed to get on with Tom’s speech. But then he realized her thigh was pressed against the full length of his, and he recalled that lovely thigh in all its firm fleshy splendor, and before he realized what was happening, he was searching for the B-21 Grandpa called to kick things off.
Chapter Seventeen
Politicians are interested in people. Not that this is a virtue. Fleas are interested in dogs.
P J. O’ROURKE