Run the Man Down

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The flimsy front door opened with a squeak and shut with a reverberating slam. Tommy, irritated at being trapped in the highchair too long, banged on the tray with his spoon and glared at her. Carol Ann said softly, “One minute, honey bun. That big man is home.” She turned up the gas under the pressure cooker, met Big Tom at the kitchen door. Her heart ached at the lines of weariness in his face and with her arms around him, she felt the leaden exhaustion of his body.

“They kept you a long time, darling,” she said.

He smiled in a tired way. “Every day on Robertson’s squad is just like Sunday on the farm. Nothing to do but work. I think I’m too tired to eat.”

He sat at the table in the cramped kitchen and Tommy crowed with delight, tried to express his approval of having his father home by bashing him with the sticky spoon.

“Hmm,” Tom said. “Offensive type. With the beef on you, we’ll have to use you in the line.”

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