Chapter 19: Grady at the Bar

I pulled the quilt tight and said, "Everybody be quiet."

Boone had his jeans on in an instant.

Dex was hunting for his shirt, and Emmett was already in the bathroom with the door open a crack.

I put on my robe and opened the front door six inches.

My father stood on the crooked porch under the bulb with a tin box in both hands.

He did not look at my robe.

He looked at the curb.

Dex's bar van was there, and Emmett's farm truck, and Boone's pickup with the toolbox in the bed.

"All three," he said.

"Yes."

"Well. Good thing it's a small yard."

I couldn't tell if that was a joke.

"This was your mother's," he said, and held out the tin. "Her recipe box. You left it on the dresser."

I took it.

It was lighter than I remembered.

"Dad, come in."

"No." He rubbed his jaw. "Boone's in there."

"He is."

"Is his face all right?"

"Emmett stitched it."

"Good." He nodded to himself. "I hit him too hard. I'm not sorry, but I hit him too hard."

"Dad."

"I'm going to Muldoon's." He turned toward the steps. "I don't want to drink alone, and I figured Dex owes me a whiskey."

He went down the steps and across the dark yard.

Behind me, the tension broke.

"I like him," Dex said weakly. "I have never liked him more."

On Thursday night, Dex's bar was packed with the after-work crowd.

I came in with Emmett around nine and sat on my usual stool, and Dex slid me a ginger ale without being asked.

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