Dad isn’t into pain? Was this a real conversation? “It’s these little pieces of fingernail that grow away from your finger. And sometimes they hurt, and no one likes having them. You boys need to stop yammering and eat.” There was not enough coffee in Colorado for him this morning.
Jayden leaned over the table toward Jaxson. “I bet we go to the candy store after our haircuts.”
Jaxson’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah!”
Early fixed them with a look. “Just remember if you act like hooligans, your granny will fuss at me, and—”
“Poop rolls downhill!” they dutifully responded.
“And y’all are at the bottom.”
He cracked up. “Eat! Good grief.” He pulled out a plate for himself and handed it to Early.
There was a quiet knock at the door, and he waved through the window. “Come in, Demming.”
“You make gravy, Sonny Jim?”
“Yessir. Come on in and fix you a plate.”
Demming smiled at Early, the man’s eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “It’s like seeing your uncle standing there at the stove.”
He took his plate from Early and set it down with the boys. “Would you like some coffee? How do you take it?”
“Black, please. Boys, how are you?”
The kids looked to him for their clues. This was the first death in the family, and honestly, they hadn’t seen Rick in a few years, so he was like a myth.
He gave them a nod and a wink. “We got in late last night; we’re all a little bleary-eyed this morning. Say hello to Mr. Demming, boys.”
“Hello, Mr. Demming,” they said in unison.
“Are you having breakfast with us? Daddy has biscuits.”
“And gravy.”
“And Mamaw bought orange juice.”
That’s it, boys. He poured Demming a mug of coffee.
“She’s a queen among women. She taught your daddy how to make biscuits. Did you know that?”
“Uh-huh. Mamaw loves to cook. She makes chocolate chip cookies not from a box.” Jaxson’s eyes were wide, like that was a miracle.
“You take a shortcut one time…” He grinned and set Demming’s coffee down by an empty chair. “Warm out, huh?”
“For April? It is. Going to be a nice summer. I foresee a lot of calves, and a foal or two.”
“That should keep you busy.” He pulled out the chair so Demming could sit with his plate, and then joined them. “Do you have much help?”
“No, I’m on my own. I’m hoping Rick set something up for me.” Demming dug into the biscuits and gravy, moaning low. “Man, you get to eat like this a lot?”
“Every weekend. And lots of dinners. Early’s a really good cook.”
“Daddy does all the cooking because Dad goes to workevery day.”
“Every day. Like school. Every-every day.”
He chuckled. “I think Mr. Demming gets it.”