Family Honor - Robert B Parker

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Authors: Parker
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that
had passed since freshman year, when we roomed together, was that in her
professional life, she was by reputation a good and wise counselor. Her
personal self was an hysteric. For reasons having to do probably with my
own perversity, I had always liked that about her. The hysteria was on
full display at her son Michael's sixth birthday party, to which Rosie
and I had been reluctant invitees. And we were the cream of the crop.
    Others included five other children, aged six or less,
bundled up because it was really too cold to have an outside party, but
Michael had wanted a pony. There were also a couple of mothers, who seemed
as hysterical as Julie, a bored pony, and a guy dressed up in a clown suit
who was leading the pony around.
    We were on Julie's front lawn in the suburbs. There was
a card table set up with a yellow paper table covering taped onto it. The
wind kept tearing the flappy edges of it. There was maybe a third of a
chocolate birthday cake on the table, and a carton of halfmelted vanilla
ice cream. Several children, including Michael, were afraid of the pony.
Michael was also afraid of the clown.
    "Who wants a ride?" Julie said.
    The grim cheerfulness she was grinding out made her voice
reach registers I didn't know she had. Rosie was sitting in my lap. She
didn't like small children any more than I did, but she was more genuine
about it. A little girl in a pink dress came over and poked her in the
ribs. Rosie growled. The little girl went immediately to Julie.
    "That dog wants to bite me," she said.
    Julie smiled maniacally.
    "Nice doggie," she said, "Rosie's a nice doggie."
    "I wish to bite her also," I said to Julie. "Where's Michael
senior?"
    "Off with the other two, this is just Mikey's day."
    "And a dandy one," I said.
    Julie did something with her lips that might have been
a smile, and shook her head quickly. The pony made a deposit on the lawn,
and Julie left me to attend to that.
    A small boy who had apparently misunderstood the chocolate
cake, and given himself a facial with it, came over with the little girl
at whom Rosie had growled. The little girl hung back.
    "Does that dog bite?" he says.
    "Yes." I said.
    "Bad dog," the boy said.
    "She's neither bad nor good," I said. "She's a dog."
    "Huh?"
    I could feel the hair stiffen along Rosie's back. Her
taste was impeccable. Julie appeared from the garage with a snow shovel
and a plastic bag.
    "Oh, look at Michael's mommy," I said. "Maybe you could
help her shovel."
    Both kids screamed in horror at the idea of shoveling
pony poop. But they went on to watch.
    The guy in the clown suit said, "Okay, kids, who wants
to ride Pepe the pony?"
    The kids hung back. One mother attempted to put her son
on it, and he kicked and fought her until she gave up. Julie got her pony
droppings into her green plastic bag and carried it over to the garage.
The guy in the clown suit bent over and spoke to Michael in a voice that
was apparently clownspeak.
    "How about the birthday boy, he gets the first ride."
    "Don't do that," I said.
    But I was too late. The guy in the clown suit picked Michael
up and plunked him on the animal. Michael was on the pony he feared, having
been placed there by the clown he feared more. He screamed. It scared the
pony, who bucked, which annoyed Rosie, who barked. I put Rosie down, held
her leash in my left hand, stepped sideways toward the pony who was kicking
his hind feet lethargically, and scooped Michael off with my right arm.
Julie came out of the garage and across the lawn on a dead run. Michael
was screaming, crying, and, incidentally, trying to kick me. Rosie was
in full bark at the pony now, straining at her leash, thirty-one pounds
of barely (and fortunately) restrained ferocity. Julie grabbed Michael
away from me, and held him.
 
"What happened, honey. What happened, Mommy's here, what
happened?"
    Michael cried harder, and hung onto his mother. The guy
in the clown suit didn't seem to have a good read on things. He was leaning
down

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