The Unmaking of Rabbit by Constance C. Greene Page B

someone, carrying a big sack full of skinny boys, all of whom looked exactly like Paul, ears and everything.

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    â€œWhere you been keeping yourself?” Mr. Barker asked when Paul stopped at the store after school on Thursday. “The missus was asking about you last night. Said she wanted you to come for a meal real soon. I told her maybe you wouldn’t be around forever, maybe you’re going to live with your mom, and she said not to sneak away without letting us know where we can reach you. Leave your address, telephone number.” Mr. Barker swabbed down the front of his glass cases, smudged with a myriad of small fingerprints and even nose prints.
    Boldly Paul said, “I could come tomorrow.” Even as he spoke, blood ran into his cheeks. He was ashamed of being so forward, but he really wanted Mrs. Barker to invite him for supper Friday.
    â€œSo far’s I know, we got no plans,” Mr. Barker said. “I’ll ask her, and you stop by tomorrow so’s I can let you know for sure. That way your grandma’d have a night off and not have to cook for you. It must be kind of hard, a woman her age having to keep up with a young one like you.”
    If Gran heard Mr. Barker referring to her as “a woman her age,” she would in all probability blow a gasket.
    â€œWhere’s Eugene?” Paul asked.
    â€œHe called in sick.” Mr. Barker looked solemnly at Paul. “Second time this week. Three strikes and he’s out. Eugene’s not exactly what I call a ball of fire. He’s more what I term ‘feckless.’ The missus says she could’ve told me that right off. All’s she has to do is look at somebody and she can pretty well tell what he’s like. She’s something.” Mr. Barker shook his head in admiration. “She’s a corker, that one. Keeps me on my toes.”
    Paul wondered if Mrs. Barker liked him . He made a note to look up the word feckless when he got home.
    â€œIf she knows you’re coming, Paul, she’ll spend the whole day in the kitchen,” Mr. Barker said. Then, as if reading his mind, he added, “You’re her favorite. And that’s high praise. That woman isn’t easy to please when it comes to people.” He smiled and tapped Paul lightly on the arm. His hands were very big and covered with scars, which he had told Paul were the result of his early days as a butcher. “People think it’s easy, being a butcher, but there’s a lot to learn if you’re going to be first class, and I’m living proof it isn’t so easy,” he had explained. “One slip with that knife and only the good Lord knows what might happen.”
    He arranged some soup cans in a neat pyramid. “You got anything you’re especially fond of?” he asked. “She likes to fix your favorite food.”
    â€œAs long as it isn’t liver,” Paul said, “I don’t care.”
    â€œSome day you should taste my liver,” Mr. Barker said. “The finest liver there is. Expensive, but worth every penny. I got a couple customers, they buy it for their cats. Would you believe it?”
    â€œGran wouldn’t buy it for our cat,” Paul said. “Not even for Flora.”
    â€œYour grandmother’s a wise shopper, a careful shopper. She thinks about where she puts her dollars.”
    â€œShe sure does.” Paul agreed, and they both laughed.
    Filled with the warm, friendly feeling he always had when he talked to Mr. Barker, Paul went home. Gran wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room, and she wasn’t lying down, as she sometimes did, so Paul figured she must be out. Flora regarded him with her usual insolence, and Paul said, “You are fat and ugly and feckless, that’s what. Feckless Flora.” He often insulted her when they were alone. It made him feel better, and Flora’s haughty demeanor remained unchanged.
    Helping himself to a