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Show THROWING THE BREAD The whole summer, I'm swindling Fenn. He's rich and lazy and gullible and twelve like the rest of us, and I admit it: I'm swindling him. Harder to admit, and worse: I've got a case on his mother. While Fenn and Butch wrestle on Fenn's back lawn at dusk, I sit aside chewing grass, watching Mrs. Fenn in the yellow light of the kitchen window as she sets the table for her family. I can only think: what a perfect woman. She wears dresses and does not holler at twilight for her kids to come for dinner right now, the way everyone else in our neighborhood does. Toward evening, it's like a roll call out there; men and women on their porches hollering names: Da-vey! Llo-oyd! La-rry! Mrs. Fenn, however, is delicate and calm. She is careful, never hurried, and she always calls me by my full name: Lawrence. She is careful to maintain in a large closet in her basement, as instructed by her church, a pantry fully stocked with |