Page 63 of Roughing the Player
“No. It’s best if you stay inside.” When I start to protest, he adds, “For now.”
He walks out the front door and stands in the path leading up to the street. I rush to the living room window, crack open the curtain, and listen to what he’s saying. His speech is short and to the point. He tells them they’re trespassing on private property and they’re making his daughter and dog very nervous. And then he asks them to leave. Unfazed, they pepper him with questions. After answering a couple, he promises to have a longer statement the next day. But right now they need to go.
When none of them move, he lowers the hammer.
“If anyone’s around in fifteen minutes, I’ll call the police and have you arrested. If you persist with this invasion of privacy, I’ll have you and your publications banned from the Outlaws’ approved media list.
Upon hearing that statement, most of them hightail it out of there, but a couple of diehards move their beachhead to the sidewalk. They’ll be sitting out there all night, because I’m not coming out for the rest of the day. Maybe ever.
Having accomplished his goal, Brock walks back into the house. “They’re gone.”
“Some are still out there,” Kaylee says, tapping the app on her phone, the one that came with our security camera system and clearly shows some photographers still hanging out.
“They’ll get tired soon enough when there’s nothing to see.”
“Would you like something to eat, Brock?” Mama asks. “I made some chicken and rice.”
“That would be lovely, Ruth. Thank you.”
“How about you, honey?” she asks me.
“No, thanks, Mama. I ate at the office.”
While she ladles a portion from the cooking pot onto a plate, I set out a placemat and cutlery on the kitchen island. He drops on a stool next to Kaylee, who’s quietly eating while sneaking bits to Butch.
“So, Kaylee, what grade are you in?”
“I’m going into seventh grade at Larmoor Junior High.”
“Your mother tells me you’re really smart.”
She shrugs while playing around with her food. “I guess.”
“You get that from your mother. I pretty much sucked at most classes.”
“Guess you were too busy with football.”
“You’re right. I was.”
“I suck at sports. Mama, may I be excused?”
“Sure, honey.”
He reaches out to help her stand.
“I can do it. Thank you.” She rests her leg on her hands-free crutch and rolls toward her room, with Butch bringing up the rear.
Once she’s disappeared from view, Brock lets out a long breath. “Boy.”
“Told you it would be hard.”
Ruth pats his hand as she serves him a full plate of food. “You did fine, Brock. She’ll come around.”
But will she? That’s to be determined. Kaylee’s got a stubborn streak in her a mile long.
Mom loosens her apron strings and hangs it on the peg on the wall. “Well, I better go. Got some pies to bake for the church fair. I’ll be back tomorrow, honey.” She buzzes me on the cheek.
“Thank you, Mama.”
