Mom brings out a tray of ginger-ale glasses. It seems sort of inadequate at a moment like this, but when Tom takes a glass from her he looks like he’s going to bust out crying.
He drinks some and blows his nose, and Dad says, “When are you supposed to check in with the Youth Board again?”
“Tuesday. My day off. And I wind up the filling-station job the next week, right after Labor Day.”
“Labor Day. Hm-m. We’ve got to get moving. If you like, I’ll come down to the Youth Board with you, and we’ll see what we can all cook up. Don’t worry too much. I have a feeling you’re just beginning to fight—really fight, not just throw a few stones.”
“I don’t know why you bother.” Tom starts to stand up. But while we’ve been talking, Cat has been creeping up under the side table, playing the ambush game, and he launches himself at Tom just as he starts to stand. It throws him off balance and he sits back in the chair, holding Cat.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Pop says. “Cat’s on your side.”
10
