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wants to know if you want steak."
"Stea k. " My father pulled the tab off the beer; his mouth turned
down into a fi·own. Then he shrugged. "Whatever."
Dinner was late. First Rhoda had to defrost the steaks, then my fa–
ther barbecued them outside on the grill. He put on an apron and,
while they were sizzling, pranced around the yard, singing a song from
an opera record he liked to listen to, and waving his spatula like a ba–
ton. He winked at Rhoda and tried to get her to dance with him, but
she said, "Like I have time for this," and stalked back to the kitchen , let–
ting the screen door slam behind her.
As we sat down to the table, R.icky reappeared. My father reminded
him about the lawn. "Yeah, sure," Ricky said.
"I
was going to do it to–
day. I was just waiting until later, when it's cooler."
My father popped open a beer. Rhoda finished her second gin and
tonic.
Ricky ate like he slept: in enormous quantities. He loaded his plate
with salad and bread. My father said, "Where do you think that boy
puts it all? Do you think he has a hollow leg?" Rhoda pursed her lips
and didn ' t say anything, but then he winked at me and I smiled back,
like I thought he was funny.
Rhoda had put the two steaks on a platter. My father cut a piece
off one of the steaks and put it on his plate. "Mm, just right," he said,
smiling broadly. "My compliments to the chef" He laughed at his own
little joke and passed the platter to Rhoda. She cut herself a piece, then
passed the platter to Ricky. Ricky was busy shoveling salad into his
mouth. Without even looking up , he pushed the entire second steak
onto his plate and began to devour it. My father frowned . "Somebody
must think we have a money tree ill the backyard ," he said. He turned
to Ricky . "You've been outside, Ricky," he said pointedly, " Have you
found a money tree
t "
"What?" Ricky looked up, surprised, from his food.
"A money tree," my father said, more loudly this time. "I say, have
you found one in our yard?"
Ricky shook his head "No." Secretly he looked at me , as if to say,
what are they, crazy?
"What's that?" my (1ther demanded.
"No." Ricky hesit::tted. "No, sir."
"Well, then," my father se ttled back in his chair. "If you find one, I
would appreciate your letting me know."
The rest of the dinner passed in silence. Afterwards Ricky dissapeared
again. Then I saw him , outside, in the dark. He was mowing the yard.
With a clack of blades, as if in slow motion, the push mower moved a
few feet forward, then a few feet back. Then it stopped. Ricky rested his
