“Mommy, Mommy, can we go to Providence for vacation this summer, pretty please?”
Betty was scrubbing the Corning dish. They’d had a ham and scalloped potato casserole for dinner and the potatoes had hardened onto the dish. Had she greased the pan before putting it into the oven? She was sure of it. After all, she’d been preparing meals for this family for almost twenty years.
Gary tapped his hands under the dinner table. Ever since he’d joined Mr. Macuga’s jazz band at school, he’d been drumming the beat to his music on their table at dinnertime.
“Gary, please quiet down.”
When he quieted down, Jimmy knocked on the table. Heather darted to the front door and barked her head off. Gary and Jimmy laughed their heads off.
Allen smoked a cigarette, sipped his Manhattan, and read the evening paper. Betty didn’t know why her husband even wanted to read the paper these days. The only stories in the front section concerned Watergate this, Watergate that, Vietnam this, Vietnam that. Allen still supported Richard Nixon, but Betty knew the man was a crook. Any politician who says he’s not a crook … is a crook. Ever since the Checkers speech in ’52, Richard Nixon had nauseated her.
Jeff read his book – “Johnny Tremain.” Just like her in every way! Somehow her middle son was the only person in the family Betty could talk to. They saw eye to eye on everything from Martha Mitchell to William Shakespeare.
Betty continued scrubbing the Corning ware. It certainly was stubborn. But she was determined to get it cleaned tonight. And speaking of determined – her youngest son.
“What did you say, Jimmy? I wasn’t paying attention.”
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