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Cinci
When he got back to the family apartment, Elizabeth greeted him with, "How did it go today?" How much money did you make? was what she meant, of course.
Some of the tension slid out of her face when he answered, "Pretty well, thanks. How about you, sweetheart?"
"Ordinary kind o' day," his wife said with a weary shrug. "Got me two dollars and a quarter. Every little bit helps, I reckon."
Achilles looked up from the kitchen table, where he was writing a high-school composition. He said, "Classes let out next month. Then I'll be able to look for work without you pitching fits, Dad."
He itched to do more than he was doing. Cinci
By Achilles' expression, he'd made a mess of his grammar. But then, at sixteen (and where had the years since he was born gone?) Achilles wore that look of scorn around him a lot of the time. Cinci
"If we need the money-" Achilles began.
"We don't need it that bad," Cinci
Amanda came in and gave Cinci
"That's good, sweetheart. That's mighty fine," Cinci
"How can you do better than perfect at all?" Amanda asked.
"You can't. I was just jokin' a little," Cinci
"Oh." Amanda wrinkled her nose. "That's silly, Daddy." Her accent held even more Midwest, even less Kentucky, than Achilles'. She'd been born here, after all. Everyone she'd ever heard, except for her parents, had that harsh, precise way of talking, with sharp vowels and every letter of every word pronounced. It still sounded strange and ugly to Cinci
A delicious odor reached Cinci
"I'm stewing giblets with potatoes and tomatoes and onions," Elizabeth answered. "Butcher shop had 'em cheap."
"Cheap?" Cinci
"Soup bones? That's wonderful! I'll do 'em up tomorrow." Elizabeth hurried to put the package in the icebox.
"Giblets. Soup bones." Achilles made a face that looked remarkably like the one his little sister had just made. "Not many people eat that kind of stuff."
Cinci
Achilles said, "Somebody at school told me Chinamen cut up dogs and cats and use them for meat. Is that true, Dad?"
"I don't know," Cinci
"I wouldn't do that!" Achilles sounded uncommonly sincere. A moment later, he explained why: "Grace Chang is in a couple of my classes. I think she's a cute girl."
That made Cinci
Of course, just because Achilles thought Grace was cute, that didn't mean he was going to ask her to marry him, or even to ask her to go to a film with him. Just the same, a sensible father-a father who didn't want his boy beaten up or lynched-started worrying about these things as far ahead of time as he could. By Elizabeth's expression, she was worrying about them, too.
Before Cinci
"Whoever the Democrats run-looks like Coolidge now," Cinci
Not Achilles. "If I could vote, I'd vote for the Socialists," he declared. "They don't care if you're black or white or yellow or red. They just want to know what you can do." And that declaration of political independence started a whole new argument, one that made Cinci
"P ass the salt, Ma," Edna Grimes said, and Nellie Jacobs did. Her daughter sprinkled it on a drumstick. "This is awful good fried chicken." She took a big bite.
"Sure is, Mother Jacobs," Merle Grimes agreed. He turned to Edna. "You all right, honey? Everything staying down?"
Edna nodded. "Couldn't be better, Merle. Stomach isn't bothering me at all this time around." She yawned. "I still get sleepy a lot, though." She was three months pregnant; the baby would be born somewhere around New Year's Day, 1933. Suddenly, she pointed at her son. "For God's sake, Armstrong, I'm not too sleepy to miss you stuffing half a pound of mashed potatoes into your face all at once. Show some ma
"Sorry, Ma," Armstrong said, most indistinctly-maybe it hadn't been half a pound of mashed potatoes, but it hadn't missed by much. Across the table from him, Clara smirked. Aunt and nephew (which seemed silly, when only two years separated them) had never got along, not even when they were tiny.
Merle Grimes raised his glass of beer. "Here's hoping Cal sweeps the Socialists out of Powel House," he said. The Democrats wouldn't hold their convention for another month-they'd scheduled it for the Fourth of July-but Governor Coolidge's nomination now looked like a foregone conclusion.
"Amen," Nellie said, and drank. So did Edna. So did Hal Jacobs. Armstrong Grimes raised his glass of milk in imitation of the grownups. Clara made a face at him.
"That will be enough of that, young lady," Nellie said. Clara subsided. Armstrong laughed.
Edna said, "We're all Democrats, and it doesn't do us or Coolidge a bit of good. Hardly seems fair."