“I do, Mom,” Wally said from Shelly’s other side.
“That’s right.” She put her arm around her son and squeezed. “You’re my little stinkweed.”
Sitting across the table from Wally, Adam lifted his eyes from the black hot dog on his plate. “You can smell me if you want, Shelly.”
“Now, why would anyone want to smell you?” Dylan asked as he set a can of Coke on the table and swung one leg, then the other, over the bench seat and sat next to his son. “You always smell like your dirty dog.” The tip of his boot touched Hope’s bare toe and she slid her foot back.
“That’s ‘cause she likes to kiss my face.” He laid his head against Dylan’s shoulder.
Dylan looked down at Adam and the brim of his hat cast a woven shadow across his nose and one cheek. “Probably because you taste just like a pork chop.”
“Uh-uh, Dad.”
Hope bit into her crispy hot dog and studied Dylan’s profile, looking for similarities with his son. Adam’s hair was darker, his mouth and nose were different, but his eyes-his eyes were his father’s.
Shelly pointed to Dylan’s Coke. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”
He looked up and the shadow moved to cover the top half of his face, drawing attent
ion to his mouth. Hope watched his lips as he spoke. “I choked down a few weenies before they got incinerated.”
Paul placed a plate heavy with food on the table and sat on the other side of Wally. “I guess Hope is the only woman who appreciates my cooking.”
Actually, the hot dog was even a bit too burned for her. She liked them black, not crunchy, but she didn’t say so. Instead, she took a bite. “Mmmm.” One corner of Dylan’s mouth lifted in a dubious smile, and when she swallowed, it felt like the crispy hot dog got stuck in her chest.
Shelly pointed to her husband’s plate. “Eat some of Hope’s salad. You need to get healthy if you’re going to win the toilet toss this year.”
“You going to enter that again?” Dylan asked.
“Yep, first prize is a big-screen TV.”
“That’s right, and I want that TV,” Shelly said. “So, starting tomorrow, I’m putting Paul on those steroids they feed cattle. He needs to be strong like a bull.”
“What if I wind up hung like a bull?” Paul wanted to know.
“Actually, those steroids will mess with your sex drive and can shrink your who-hah,” Dylan informed everyone.
“What’s a who-hah, Dad?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
Hope took another bite of her crunchy hot dog and lowered her gaze to her plate. With complete certainty, she could honestly swear that she’d never been surrounded by dinner companions who chewed tobacco, discussed slicing and dicing body parts, and talked about shrinking who-hahs.
While Hope ate her salad, she listened to Shelly and Paul plan their strategy for winning the toilet toss, which involved last-minute weight training and vitamin consumption. Again the tip of Dylan’s boot touched her toe, and she drew her foot back with the other. She glanced up, but his attention was focused on Adam and Wally, who’d left to skip rocks across the lake.
“Stay where I can see you,” Shelly called after them.
Hope sprinkled a little salt on her oyster and reached for a plastic knife. She wasn’t so sure she wanted it anymore.
“Are you really going to eat that?” Dylan asked from across the table.
“What?” She raised her gaze as far as his hand wrapped around the Coke can. A bead of condensation slid down the red aluminum and disappeared behind his knuckle.
He lifted one finger from the can and pointed at her plate. “That’s not a real oyster, you know.”
“What is it, fake?”
“You could say that.”