My Father Bet My Year at the Boucherie, So I Signed It Myself and Named the Terms novel · Chapter 10 of 24

Chapter 10: Sunday Dinner

Blake's house sat on a rise outside Lafayette with a long gravel drive lined by crepe myrtle, and on Sunday it was full of trucks.

Twelve old men sat at a table made of two doors laid end to end.

The priest sat at one end with a napkin tucked into his collar, and Blake sat at the other, with a platter of smothered pork chops and a bowl of rice the size of a hubcap.

Andrei sat at Blake's right hand with his leather folio open at his plate.

Seb held my chair, and I sat.

"Cher," said Blake, beaming.

"Look at you.

"Look at the two of them, gentlemen.

"A month ago I thought my brother was lost."

The old men murmured.

"I have news," Blake said, and rose, and tapped his glass with a fork.

"The vote in the spring.

"The poker route has been mine for fifteen years, and I'm getting old.

"I intend to name my brother to run it."

A rumble of approval went around the table.

Seb sat straight.

He had not been told.

I saw it in the white line at the corner of his mouth.

"Blake," he said quietly.

"We'll discuss it."

"We'll discuss it after we eat," Blake said, warmly.

"Andrei, the little business."

Andrei slid a sheet of paper down the table.

"It's a family formality," he said, to me, in his pleasant voice.

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