Squatting on the slab of pavement, framed in a spotlight of sun, was Jacob holding a twig between his fingers like a surgeon with a scalpel. He had stabbed a roach. Just before bringing the bug to his mouth, Rose yelled for him to stop.
“Bugs are dirty. Put that down. Now come inside and wash your hands. Don’t ever touch those again.”
“He’s just a little boy, Rose. Boys play with bugs. You’re going to make him afraid to get dirty.”
“I’d rather him be afraid to get dirty than him get sick. Do you want him to get sick, Eddie?”
“Good God, you’re impossible!”
Edwin couldn’t help himself; it was hard to respect her; for he came from better stock. His family hailed from New York; Thomas Sr. played for the Dodgers, then was hired as safety manager at Mobil Chemical. His father put her father to shame. Klaus grew up poor and dropped out of school and worked on the railroads.
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