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Show Twisters . . . 16 his head to one side, pretending to memorize the names. His mustache would twitch and I'd know he was holding back on his loud "haw-haws." Sometimes, on request, Arthur would also recite the titles of the paperback novels the names came from. That list was even funnier. Ah yes, I thought, stabbing the last bean on my plate: The Hatch Family, B.R. Mom handed Arthur and me our wedges of chocolate pie just before Ryan started in again with his stiff-legged screaming. "Have you tried rubbing his gums with paregoric?" Dad asked Mom, all concerned. "I may have to if I want to get Mother Hatch's dress finished tonight." Mom took Ryan onto her lap and let him suck on a piece of ice, "Are you still going out to the farm tonight?" I asked, once I got the chance. "I have to, Danny. The tractor quit two days ago. The mechanic there in Phillips can't get to it before Friday and your grandfather has to put in his crop of milo." Then Dad was up, pushing back his chair and kissing Mom. He rubbed Ryan'8 fuzzy head and gave my neck a squeeze before he took off. "I'll have dessert later," he said. "Dad's expecting me before dark so we can tow that sucker into the shed." He slapped on his cap, then headed for the bathroom to put his green coveralls back on. My dad's a mechanic. He loves getting his hands into greasy old engines and making them purr again. In fact, Dad's pride and joy, a rare, white 1953 Corvette, stood engine-stripped in our garage that |
