| OCR Text |
Show Twisters . . . 15 slightest little "unnnnh" he made before cutting loose with an ear-splitting scream would get Mom straight to her feet in a second. Now, having finished his quota of hot dogs, even Arthur was making eyes at my brother. "Gitsy, gitsy," he cooed, walking across Ryan's undershirt with his fingers. Ryan rewarded him with a silly smile. Used to be, we had conversation at the supper table. "Well, Danny, what'd you do at school?" Dad would ask, buttering a roll or something. I'd tell him and he'd listen. He'd laugh or shake his head or make a joke about what I'd said. Mom might get in on it or she might just sit there, waiting her turn. In those days she was doing hair at Carol's Boutique, so she had lots of stuff to tell every night. If Arthur happened to be eating with us, Dad would include him, too. "Go over your sisters' names again, Wart," he might say, as he had off and on for the two years Arthur had lived in Grand Island. "I think I've nearly got 'em straight now. One more time ought to do it." Then Arthur would recite and Mom would try not to giggle, "Eustacia Marie," he'd begin, his brown eyes serious as anything, "Veronica Vae . . . Gweneth Elaine . . . Tabitha Tess . . . Theodosia Desire . . . and the baby Angelique. Angelique's the last. She doesn't have a middle name because Mama's going to add it later when she gets to wanting another baby." I swear, it was like listening to Genesis-Exodus-Leviticus at Sunday school! Every time, Arthur recited them deadpan. And every time, Dad cocked |
