Chapter 23: Connie Officiates the Sink

On Saturday my mother's kitchen held five people, one dog and a roast chicken, and nobody could move.

Archie sat on two phone books at the table with his napkin tucked into his dinosaur sweater.

Ruby sat beside him cutting his carrots into tiny dinosaurs, which he refused to eat on principle.

Biscuit lay under the table with his chin on Dalton's shoe.

"Pass the potatoes," my mother said.

Dalton passed the potatoes.

"Not that way. You're holding the bowl like it's evidence."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Dal," Archie said. "Why do you say ma'am to Monica's mama?"

"Because she's in charge."

"Of what?"

"Everything in this room," said Ruby.

"Including the dog," said my mother.

Archie thought about it with great gravity.

"I'm in charge of the dog," he said.

"No," said everyone.

I laughed until I had to put down my fork.

Across the table Dalton was watching me, and he wasn't smiling the way he used to for cameras.

It was an open, slightly dazed look, and he didn't look away when I caught it.

When the plates were cleared my mother stood up and began running water over them.

The tap was shut off with a squeal.

"Hm," she said. "That sink. Dalton, I think it's your turn."

"Mom," I said.

"It's the washer again."

He was already rolling up his sleeves.

He got down on the linoleum with the wrench and his head in the cabinet, and my mother handed him a flashlight.

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