ONE DAY WHEN John Corey was measuring and cutting two-by-fours in the driveway of St. Matthew’s parish house, he looked up and saw his brother Eugene, long-legged and narrow, with red hair flying, coming down the driveway with a bulky dog at his heels. There is a soup kitchen at St. Matthew’s, and John and his assistant, Tom Orlando, were building a new entrance and a new bathroom there. Eugene stopped by to watch so often that he’d made friends with the people who ran the soup kitchen and sometimes he helped serve food.
The dog Eugene had brought was being eyed warily by the other people standing around in the driveway, mostly young black men in caps, smoking or talking after their lunch. They whooped when John tossed a piece of lumber onto the pile with a clatter, and then they looked at the dog again. Eugene worked at the animal shelter, and when he could, he rescued dogs. He couldn’t keep a dog in his house because his lover, Albert, was allergic, but he had persuaded John to take in a little brown dog.
Their older brother, Cameron, a lawyer, also had a dog from the animal shelter—a tall black dog named Fairleigh, with long silky hair. Fairleigh was the only creature ever known to be devoted to John and Eugene’s older brother.
The dog Eugene brought to the soup kitchen was a light-colored German shepherd with a big, thick tail. John watched her walk up and down the driveway; a few children shrieked, and then the cook came out and told Eugene to take her away. “She doesn’t bite, Marjorie,” said Eugene to the cook. “I think she’s a little neurotic, but she’s basically friendly.” He buried his hand in the thick ruff around the dog’s neck. “She’s getting her winter coat already.” It was October.
The dog barked twice at the cook but then she licked the cook’s hand. The cook—a short, skinny black woman—ignored her, stepping briskly away as if she had no time to be licked by a dog. Then she turned back and took the dog’s face in her hands, and John saw the dog and the woman look hard at each other, promising not to forget each other’s faces.
The soup kitchen closed for the day and everyone left but the staff, who were cleaning up. John could hear their radio from the kitchen. He was learning their routine. The guests left by about one-thirty, and the staff was gone by two. Then he and Tom got more work done. The staff consisted mostly of people on city welfare. It was their work assignment.
One of them, a white man in his twenties named Marco, often hung around and talked to John and Tom. Marco had done some construction work, and he hinted that John could take him on, but John didn’t have enough work for three, and he wasn’t trying out any stranger. Tom was his brother-in-law, his wife’s kid brother. Tom hadn’t known anything at first, but he’d learned.
When Marco came out of the soup kitchen, the dog, whom Eugene had not taken away but who was now on a leash, began jumping on Marco and licking his face. “Does that dog know you?” said John. He wondered whether it might have been Marco’s dog, who had somehow gotten lost and ended up in the pound. Marco said he’d never seen the dog before.
“Dogs know I’m good to them,” he said. “I once had a dog, I taught her everything about traffic. She went everywhere with me and I never needed a leash. She knew red lights, green lights, you name it.”
“Aren’t dogs color-blind?” said Tom, who had come out to get the two-by-fours John was cutting.
“This dog knew red lights, green lights.” Marco leaned back on his heels, watching them. He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt, and he buttoned it. It was a cool day.
Eugene told Marco the dog needed a home, and Marco said maybe he could take it in. “I have to check,” he said. He wanted the dog, John could see. “She’s a thoroughbred,” Marco said. “Here, girl,” he kept saying to the dog, snapping his fingers. The dog licked his fingers.
John thought the dog was probably not a thoroughbred, but there was no question she was a good-looking dog.
“You could call her Soupy after the soup kitchen,” said Eugene.
“I’d rather call her Steak,” said Marco.
Now Marjorie came out on her way home. “I thought I told you to take that dog away,” she said to Eugene.
“Dogs can teach us a great deal, Marjorie,” Eugene said.
“I don’t want that dog messing here,” said Marjorie. The dog wagged her tail at Marjorie, but the cook walked right past her, pretending they didn’t know each other. “I don’t know why you’re hanging around here, either,” she said to Marco.
THE NEXT DAY, Tom and John had another visitor on the job: Tom’s girlfriend, Ida, a big blond schoolteacher swinging an old green pocketbook with buckles that flew around and knocked people on the head when Ida got excited. It was Yom Kippur and Ida had the day off, but John didn’t know why she’d come, or why so many people visited them at this project. Sometimes his father showed up, too. That day Tom and John were working indoors because it was raining, installing the light fixture in the bathroom and a red electric exit sign just above the new doorway.
Ida kissed Tom, who was kneeling on the floor opening a carton. When she leaned over, her bag thumped him on the shoulder and her hair fell past her face and onto his face, and Ida laughed and flipped it back. She had a loud laugh that made John laugh when nothing was funny. Tom sat back on his heels and said, “I think I just had a mystical experience.”
They were working in a corridor right off the dining room, which was full of guests. It smelled of wet clothes. One man recognized Ida, who had been his teacher in high school, and he left his tray to come say hello. Ida hugged him. John thought she must be upset that her old student was eating in a soup kitchen, but if she was, she didn’t let on. Then Marco came out of the kitchen, bringing a tray of clean mugs. He set them on a cart near the serving table and then came over. “Will your brother be here today?” he asked John.
“I never know when I’ll see him,” said John.
Marco said, “I really want that dog. You don’t think they already put that dog to death, do you?”
“I don’t think so,” said John.
“What dog?” asked Ida.
“I don’t know why I didn’t just take that dog yesterday,” Marco said. “She was such a good dog.”
When Ida heard the story, she said, “Let’s not take any chances. Let’s just go get her.”
“I don’t have a car,” said Marco.
“I have a car,” Ida said.
“I had a car,” said Marco. “The muffler place stole it.”
“They stole your car?” said Ida. John wished they would all clear out and let him and Tom work, but he didn’t like to say anything because Ida was Tom’s girlfriend.
“Stole it,” said Marco. “I left it to be fixed and they said they junked it. That was that. I paid a lot of money for that car.”
“What kind was it?”
“It was a Chevy,” said Marco. “It was an ’81 Chevy. It still had a lot of good miles in it.”
“Did they pay you?” said Ida.
“No, they didn’t pay me,” Marco said. “Of course they didn’t pay me. They wanted me to pay them for junking the car.”
“You should see a lawyer,” Ida said.
“I’m thinking about it,” said Marco. “Do you know a good lawyer?”
Ida was buttoning her raincoat. John glanced at her. He figured there was no harm in Marco, but he was surprised that she had no qualms at all about taking a strange man into her car. And Marco was going to be in trouble at the soup kitchen if he sneaked out, but John was not going to give anyone his opinion about that.
Then Ida said to John, “Isn’t your brother a lawyer?”
“I thought he worked at the pound,” said Marco.
“Not that brother,” said Ida. “Your other brother is a lawyer, isn’t he?”
“My brother Cameron,” said John. “My older brother.”
“Maybe Marco should go see him,” said Ida.
“First things first,” John said. “I think first you better go get that dog.”
Marco and Ida came back with the dog forty minutes later. Marco had already named her Katie. He was so happy he brought Katie right into the soup kitchen. Marjorie screamed and screamed at him for first disappearing and then bringing in a dog. By now the guests were almost all gone and the rest of the staff was cleaning up. The dog sniffed the dirty trays piled on a table.
A man was mopping the floor, and he yelled at Marco about the mud the dog was going to spread. Ida said, “Not to mention if the health department hears about this, you probably get closed down.” She walked into the middle of the nearly empty dining room. John had stopped working and was standing under the new exit sign. He watched Ida.
“I apologize,” Ida said in a loud voice. “I apologize to the Neighborhood Soup Kitchen, its guests, and its employees.” She hustled the dog outside and told Marco she and Katie would wait in the car. “I’ll drive you home,” she said.
“Was she making fun of something?” John said to Tom.
“No,” said Tom. “That’s what’s interesting about her.”
John was a little afraid Ida would drop Tom in favor of Marco, but she didn’t, and Tom didn’t seem to be worried that she would. “She likes getting things done,” Tom said to John, and sure enough, Ida rescued the dog for Marco and then she got Marco to consult Cameron, John’s older brother. That was something John wasn’t sure about. When he thought about it afterward—weeks afterward; after Thanksgiving—he wasn’t sure how it had come about, whether it was his fault or not, if fault was even what they were talking about.
IN FACT CAMERON would say nothing bad happened. Some people came into his office determined to make things worse for themselves and there wasn’t much he could do to change their minds. Some people can’t stand it when they have only a little money. Of course some people who have only a little money can’t stand it unless they get more, but mostly those weren’t the people who showed up in Cameron’s office. His clients were often people who were simply determined to lose what little they did have.
When Cameron came into his office one day in October at ten-thirty in the morning, his old father was sitting in the waiting room like a figure in a dream. “You don’t come earlier than this?” his father said. Cameron was late because he had taken his dog to the vet. Fairleigh was middle-aged and had hip problems. The vet had said pills might help or they might not. Cameron didn’t want to discuss all this with his father. Fairleigh was now outside in Cameron’s car.
When Cameron was a young lawyer, the night before the first time he had to argue in court, he dreamed that the judge was his father. It would have been a funny story to tell, except that Cameron didn’t like to tell funny stories on himself, and also, in the dream his father had said to him from the bench, “Tell me, son, how did you do it? I may want to kill someone myself sometime.”
Now his father had brought fish. “I defrosted this yesterday,” he said, standing. Cameron’s father had been a thick, ruddy man with reddish hair, but he was paler and less substantial these days. It kept happening or Cameron didn’t get used to it: he always noticed. Cameron’s secretary, Marie, was smiling at his father, which annoyed Cameron. His father took a package of fish, wrapped in plastic, from a grocery bag. “But last night when I went to cook it,” he said, “I just didn’t feel like fish. So I opened a can of cream-of-mushroom soup. With milk, it’s very nutritious. I was going to cook the fish today, but Eugene called me first thing. He and Albert want me to come to dinner tonight. Tell Albert to hold the garlic, I said. My son-in-law the cook! With three sons,” he said in an aside to Marie, “I did not expect a son-in-law. The fish will spoil by tomorrow,” he went on, turning to Cameron again. “Put it in that little refrigerator where you keep milk for the coffee. But make sure you eat it tonight.”
“If you would let me buy you a microwave,” said Cameron, “you wouldn’t have to defrost food in advance.”
“The walk here did me good,” said his father. After his father left, Cameron carried the package of fish into his office and threw it into the wastebasket, and then a client arrived. While he was talking to the man, Cameron began to imagine that the fish had already begun to smell. He was sure the man was sniffing and trying to place the odor while they talked. The client, who knew John, was a square man in a plaid flannel shirt that made him look more square. He claimed that a car repair shop in Hamden had junked his car without his permission.
“Don’t they owe me? Seems to me they owe me,” he said.
“Do you have any proof that you didn’t tell them to junk the car?” Cameron said.
The man had no proof. He was on welfare, but he had a few hundred dollars. Probably he’d lied to the welfare department about the money. He kept going on about his money and his car, but Cameron was listening to the sound of barking from outside—the wild barking of a dog with a point to make, and Fairleigh’s slower, deeper barks.
“That’s my dog, Katie,” said the man. “She’s barking at a dog in a car. There’s a big, skinny black dog in a car.”
“My dog, Fairleigh,” said Cameron.
“Katie’s a great dog,” said the man. “I just got her, but I trained her already. She knows red lights, green lights.”
“Very impressive,” said Cameron. He could still hear Fairleigh’s steady woofs. He wanted Fairleigh to destroy this man’s foolish Katie, but Fairleigh was locked in the car.
“I think a jury would be sympathetic,” said the man. He claimed his car was worth three thousand dollars. Of course the repair place would say the car needed expensive work and the man had authorized them to junk it. They’d say he had signed something giving them the right to settle things over the phone, and that he’d told them over the phone to junk it. Cameron ran his hand through his hair. Surely the man didn’t imagine Cameron was going to put on a jury trial over the junked car. Cameron could see into the man’s mind, and he was angry at the fantasy there: justice, triumph, the abasement of the mechanic. He told the man he couldn’t do anything without a retainer. Luckily the man had that money. Cameron sent him to Marie to work out the details, and he himself hurried outside to the garbage cans behind the office with the package of fish. Fairleigh had settled down in the front seat of his car. He didn’t see the client’s dog.
There were things Cameron let himself do, as if a road went straight but Cameron suddenly drove his car off the road, not very far, but through a yard, and back onto the road. There was a certain pleasure in it, though when he questioned himself Cameron had a practical reason for everything he did. And sometimes Cameron did something splashy and generous. He’d bought his father a toaster oven and a coffee maker. He would have bought him a microwave in one minute if his father hadn’t been so stubborn. He’d be hitting the counter at Caldor’s with his credit card before his father knew what was happening.
JOHN AND TOM were almost finished with the job at the soup kitchen and it was a good thing, because some of the work was outdoors, and it was getting cold. After a while they had fewer visitors, and John was surprised when Eugene walked in one morning while he was painting trim. Eugene stood at the foot of the ladder, watching, while he told John that he and Albert wanted to make Thanksgiving dinner for everyone. John looked down at his younger brother, who seemed to sway on his long legs as he spoke. “I know Barbara always does it,” Eugene said. Barbara was John’s wife.
“It’ll be a relief,” John said. He and Barbara had a new baby, their first child, Carolee. Barbara was worn out, and she had already said she didn’t see how she could do Thanksgiving. Since his mother died, he and Barbara had always had the whole family plus her family: his brothers, his father, her parents, and Tom.
“You and your folks, too, of course,” Eugene was now saying to Tom. Then Eugene stood for a while longer, quietly watching John, and John knew he was saying silently that he hoped nobody was going to get tense about him and Albert being a gay couple. Inwardly, John told Eugene that he for one was not interested in judging what his fellow humans did as long as they didn’t hurt other people, and Barbara definitely felt the same. He thought Eugene probably knew he was saying this, but they remained silent and so did Tom. Then Eugene said, “Well,” and left. He’d been on his way to work with the van and a stray he’d picked up.
John and Tom had one more visitor that day—John’s father. He’d been raking his leaves, he said, and stuffing them into big brown paper bags, which was what the city now required. But he had filled eleven bags and a lot of leaves were left.
“They sort of disappear by spring, don’t they?” said Tom. Now he was up on the ladder. “After all, nobody rakes leaves in the forest, but you don’t see trees buried in piles of dead leaves.”
John’s father kept talking. The city permitted leaves to be raked directly into the gutter, but only just before the public works trucks came around sweeping. The city would be sweeping on John’s father’s block the day before Thanksgiving. Or you could put your leaves into a free compost bin, which you could request from the city. John’s father had done that, but the bin was too small. “You call,” he said to John. “Ask for another bin and give it to me. I’d have Cameron do it but a lawyer can’t be too careful.”
“Careful about what?”
“About claiming he’s using a compost bin when he isn’t.”
John wrote down the number to call on a scrap of paper and promptly lost it. “Does everyone have to deal with stuff like this at work?” he asked Tom.
“It’s because you’re a nice guy,” said Tom.
“Not anymore,” said John. The next job was out of town, and nobody would bother to follow them.
WEDNESDAY WAS EUGENE’S day off, and on the afternoon before Thanksgiving he started making an apple pie because it wasn’t fair for Albert to have to do all the cooking. Albert was an optometrist. He’d tried to clear his Wednesday afternoon that week, but if he didn’t come home soon, Eugene would have to make a pumpkin pie as well. As he was slicing apples the phone rang. It was Cameron, who had had a free hour when a court appearance was canceled. He’d gone and bought a microwave oven and taken it to their father’s house, but while he was inside persuading their father it wouldn’t cause cancer, Cameron’s car had been towed away.
“Street sweeping,” he said.
“Didn’t they put up signs?”
“Oh, there were signs. I never noticed. Dad was more excited that he got all the leaves into the gutter than he was about the microwave. I don’t know about him, Eugene.”
“He’s all right,” said Eugene. “Do you want me to take you to get your car?”
That was what Cameron wanted. Eugene left his pie and picked up Cameron at their father’s house. Cameron was furious. He’d have to pay for the towing, plus a parking ticket. “I’m just looking after the old man,” he said. “Nobody else bothers. I didn’t bump into John at the check-out, paying for a microwave for Dad.”
Eugene didn’t answer. They’d caught up to the street-sweeping trucks, a few blocks from his father’s house. The street was empty of cars. One truck was pushing leaves into a pile and another was scooping them into a dump truck. Then a truck with rotating brushes wet and swept the street. Eugene always liked street sweeping. Life was still civilized, it said. Gay people and straight people, black and white, all had their leaves scooped up.
When Eugene got home, Albert was making the pies, and he looked Eugene over with amusement. “Scared off by a pie,” he said. Albert was dark and curly-haired and just a little fat. He liked making puns about eyesight. He said when he was in optometry school the annual dance was called the Eye Ball, and he’d been looking for eye puns ever since. “Outta sight!” he teased his nearsighted patients. Or “A true visionary!” Eugene wished Albert were not allergic to dogs. He had asthma.
Albert cooked into the night and all the next morning, and at one the family began to arrive. Barbara and Tom’s parents had gone to an aunt’s, but Tom came with Ida, who walked in carrying a tray of crackers and cheese, grinning because it was too full and she was just barely managing not to tip it, while Tom held the door. Eugene brought Albert from the kitchen to meet her, and Ida and Albert talked optometry and cooking while John and Barbara came in with Carolee and a sweet potato casserole. Eugene took his niece from John’s arms. “Should I take off her jacket?” he said.
“Just support her head,” said Barbara.
Eugene looked into the baby’s face. “You want Uncle Eugene to take off your coat?” he said. His hands tingled with the pleasure of holding her. Carolee was barely awake. Her head wobbled above the pink puffy jacket. She had hardly any neck.
The doorbell rang again and Cameron came in, but he had brought his dog. “But Albert’s allergic,” said Eugene from the sofa, where he was working Carolee’s arm out of her jacket sleeve. “Why did you bring Fairleigh?”
“He has to take a pill at two o’clock,” said Cameron.
“But what about Albert?” said Eugene. He had always liked Fairleigh, a smart dog who looked like a black Irish setter. Albert, coming in with drinks, said he’d probably be all right, but then he said maybe the dog should stay in the car for part of the time.
Cameron said sure, but he sat down and took a drink, saying, “You talked me into adopting the dog, Eugene.” Fairleigh lay down at his feet. Cameron leaned over to look at Carolee on Eugene’s lap, then tugged at her foot. But Carolee was sleepy. “A little out of it,” said Cameron.
John moved over to stand protectively in front of Eugene. “That’s what they’re like,” he said.
Then the phone rang in the kitchen. “It’s probably Dad,” said Cameron. “Insisted he’d walk, but now I bet he wants a ride.” But Albert said the call was for Eugene and he didn’t know who it was. Fairleigh followed Eugene into the kitchen, where Albert was making gravy, and Eugene tried to push the dog away as he reached for the phone. Fairleigh looked at Eugene as if he understood almost everything.
It was Marco on the phone—Marco from the soup kitchen, where they were also having Thanksgiving dinner. Marco was crying. His dog had been hit by a car. She wasn’t badly hurt—it sounded as if her leg was broken—but Marco was afraid the animal control people would somehow grab her and destroy her. Marjorie, the cook, was out in the driveway guarding Katie. She felt bad, Marco said, because she had shooed Katie away from the door.
“Can you get her to the hospital?” Eugene said. New Haven Central Veterinary wasn’t far, but Marco couldn’t. “I’ll come and take you,” said Eugene.
But when he went into the living room and explained, Ida jumped up, reaching for her big turquoise bag. Cameron raised his arm to keep from being socked in the forehead by one of its dangling buckles. “I’ll go,” she said. “Katie’s a friend of mine. Marco’s a friend of mine.” Tom left with her. “Start without us,” he said.
“Dad’s not here yet,” Eugene said. “We won’t sit down without Dad.”
His father was quite late, in fact. Barbara thought someone should go get him, but he had wanted to take his usual walk. He wanted it even more than he ordinarily did, he’d said to Eugene, because he was going to have a big meal in the middle of the day. “He has to fortify himself with exercise,” Eugene said.
“Your father’s a character,” said Albert.
“A character,” said Cameron. “That’s a nice way of looking at it.” Everything he said sounded tense. Eugene was afraid to mention Fairleigh again. He went to the phone to call his father, but the line was busy. “Doesn’t mean a thing,” Cameron called out. “Leaves the phone off the hook half the time. It’s a miracle he remembers to put on his pants in the morning.” He settled himself in front of the cheese tray and ate several crackers rapidly. “Try him again,” he said, but the line was still busy.
“He knows where you live?” Barbara said, when more time had passed.
“He’s been here,” said Eugene.
“He’s slow in the morning,” said John. “I’m not surprised he’s late.”
But their father had still not arrived when Ida and Tom came back. “The dog’s going to be okay,” said Tom. “But it’s expensive, and Marco doesn’t have any money.”
“They didn’t turn him away, did they?” said Eugene.
“They demanded a deposit,” said Tom. “They asked for a hundred, because Katie has to be hospitalized. I don’t know what it will run to in the end.”
“So what did you do?” said Eugene.
“Well, I gave them my credit card,” Ida said. “The dog was in pain,” she said, as if people were objecting. “What was I going to do?”
“I think that was nice of you,” said Barbara. Ida ran her hand under her long hair and lifted it as if it were caught in the shoulder strap of her bag, although it wasn’t. She patted Tom’s arm.
“Listen,” Cameron said, and Eugene noticed that Fairleigh raised his head as if he was indeed making sure to listen. “I’m going to pay that bill. Let me know what it is, and I’ll pay it.”
“That’s not necessary, Cam,” said Eugene. “Maybe we can all help out.” Other people murmured appreciatively.
“Well, I think probably it is necessary,” said Ida in a loud voice.
Cameron was standing. “We’d better go look for Dad,” he said.
Eugene was already putting on his coat. “What do you mean?” he said to Ida. “I think this is very generous of Cameron. Marco was an idiot to let the dog run loose.”
And Ida said, “Your brother Cameron took all of Marco’s money. I sent him to consult with Cameron about his car, and Cameron relieved him of every dime he had. So I think Cameron ought to pay the bill.”
Cameron’s head snapped around in Ida’s direction. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I somehow missed hearing that you’re an attorney. I somehow missed hearing that you know more than I do about how to run my own practice.”
“Wait a minute,” said Tom.
“Maybe in this instance I do,” Ida said, playing with a strand of her hair. She didn’t seem to be afraid of Cameron. “You haven’t done a thing for him so far, and I don’t think you’re going to.”
“Look, lady,” said Cameron, “if someone’s determined to sink his money into a losing proposition, beyond a certain point there isn’t much I can do about it.”
“I feel terrible about this,” said Ida. “Marco just told me what happened, in the car. I’m the one who sent him to you. I feel responsible.”
“You feel responsible!” said Cameron. “Well, maybe you are responsible.” He was opening the door and pushing Eugene ahead. “You drive along Whalley and I’ll go on Edgewood,” he said as they reached the sidewalk. “If he’s not at the house, we’ll go back along Elm.” Fairleigh was just behind him.
Eugene nodded and moved toward his car. He tried to recall the whole conversation that had just taken place, what Ida had said, what Cameron had said. Cameron was difficult, he’d known that all his life; somewhere in Eugene was a three-year-old who knew that his older brother Cameron was difficult. But what Ida had said was different. Eugene drove slowly, looking from one side to the other, but did not see an old man making his way along Whalley Avenue, which was windswept, unusually empty. Everyone was inside eating turkey. Eugene turned at his father’s street and saw Cameron’s car in front of the house. He parked behind it.
His father had the downstairs apartment; it was where they had all grown up. The front door was unlocked and Eugene went in. The inner door was also open, and it opened out while the front door opened in; all his life, it had been hard to squeeze past first one and then the other. And then there was a third door in the narrow, dark hall. He tried the third door—the apartment door—and it, too, was open. Now he heard voices, so he knew his father had not died of a heart attack on the windy streets, and had not been mugged.
“So I forgot,” his father was saying. “To me it was just Thursday. I forgot it was Thanksgiving.” His father’s apartment door opened onto a corridor. At the end was a small, dark dining room that had hardly been used since their mother died, and beyond that was the kitchen. The light was on in the kitchen. Cameron’s back filled the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen, but when he shifted, Eugene could see his father all the way at the other side of the kitchen. His father was sitting at his small table, bringing a spoon to his lips. He must have returned to his food—probably cream-of-mushroom soup—after letting Cameron in.
“So will you hurry?” Cameron was saying. He had not seemed to hear Eugene come in, and Eugene didn’t call out to his father and brother.
“You want me to waste this?” the father said.
“They’ve got all kinds of food for you—turkey, stuffing,” Cameron said. Fairleigh came slowly down the corridor toward Eugene, swinging his plumy black tail in restrained sideways sweeps.
“Look, Eugene’s bad enough,” Cameron now said sharply, and his voice turned sarcastic. “My brother of the gay couple! We don’t have enough problems; now we’ve got this gay couple—and in addition we’ve got you to deal with? You can’t even be bothered to remember?”
But the soup had gone down the wrong pipe and their father was coughing and sputtering. Cameron moved forward, but when Eugene stepped into the kitchen, his brother was not patting their father on the back or holding a glass of water for him. He was grasping the old man by the shoulders and shaking him like a piece of laundry, shouting almost tearfully, “Just stop it! Just stop it!”
The spoon fell to the floor. Fairleigh hurried into the kitchen ahead of Eugene. He sniffed the fallen spoon and sniffed the old man’s leg. Then the dog turned his long, mild face toward Eugene, as if to report what he’d learned and offer his sort of help. “Use me,” Fairleigh said, or seemed to say.