Blue Smoke

in the parking lot. Could’ve waited for him to come out with his fistful of posies and jabbed him right then and there.
    Hey, buddy, can you give me a hand a minute? His type runs over like a frigging puppy. Have the knife in his gut while the son of a bitch is still grinning.
    Toss the roses on the seat of the car. Doghouse my ass. Like you’d ever let a woman rule the day. Whores and bitches. Need to be kept in their place. Keeping them in their place was half the fun.
    Wait and watch anyway. Watch him come out, walk to his truck with a couple of bags. Dumb-ass daisies sticking out the top. Probably a fag underneath. Probably thought of butt-fucking some other fag when he was banging her.
    Do the world a favor and stick a knife in his gut. One less queer in the world. How would she feel if the queer she’s banging bought it in the supermarket parking lot?
    Better ways, better days.
    Cruise on out of the lot behind him. Nice truck. There’s a thought. Fun time to burn up that nice truck. More fun if he was in it. Something to think on.
    Mrs. Malloy hit the bull’s-eye, Bo decided. Bianca not only smiled when he handed her the flowers at the door on Sunday afternoon, she kissed him on both cheeks.
    Some of the family were already there. Xander, the brother, sprawled in a chair in the living room with the baby tucked in the crook of his arm. Jack, the brother-in-law—somebody get him a scorecard—was stretched out on the floor with one of the kids playing with cars.
    Fran, the oldest sister, wandered out from the kitchen rubbing circles on her belly the way pregnant women do.
    Another kid peeked out from behind Fran’s legs and gave him a long, owlish stare.

    Reena moved forward—hugs, kisses—like none of them had seen one another for six months. Then she scooped up the little owl. And the stare became a giggling grin.
    He was offered a drink, a chair. Then the females deserted the field.
    Xander turned from the game on TV, gave Bo a big, toothy smile. “So, when you marry my sister, you could take out the wall between the two houses. Give you lots of space for five, six kids.”
    Bo felt his mouth drop open, heard some response gurgle in his throat. Otherwise, the room was silent but for the play-by-play commentary on the ball game.
    Then Xander hooted with laughter and booted his father’s leg with his foot. “Told you it would be funny. He looks like he swallowed a bulb of garlic.”
    Gib kept watching the screen. “You got something against kids?”
    “What? No.” Somewhat desperately, Bo looked around the room. “Me? No.”
    “Good. Have mine.” Xander rose, and to Bo’s frozen shock, deposited the baby in Bo’s lap. “Be right back.”
    “Oh. Well.” He looked down at the baby, who stared up at him with long, dark eyes. Since he was afraid to actually move, he shifted his gaze to Gib. He knew there was panic in it, but it couldn’t be helped.
    “What, you never held a baby?”
    “Not this small.”
    The kid on the floor scooted over. “They don’t do much. My mama’s having another baby. And it better be a brother.” He turned, looked darkly at his father.
    “Did my best, pal,” Jack said.
    “I’ve got a baby sister now,” the boy told Bo. “She likes doll babies.”
    Taking his cue, Bo shook his head in pity. “That’s disgusting.”
    Obviously sensing a kindred spirit, the boy climbed up on the arm of the chair. “I’m Anthony. I’m five and a half. I have a frog named Nemo, but Nana doesn’t let me bring him to dinner.”
    “Girls are funny that way.”

    In his lap the baby squirmed and let out a cry. A bellow was more like it, in Bo’s opinion. He jiggled his legs without much hope.
    “You can pick him up,” Ryan told him. “You just have to put your hand under his head, ’cause his neck’s all floppy. Then you put him up on your shoulder and pat his back. They like that.”
    The baby continued to wail, and since no one came to his rescue—the sadists—Bo gingerly slid a hand under the baby’s head.
    “Yeah, like that,” his baby expert said. “And kinda scoop the other under his butt. He’s wiggly, so you gotta be careful.”
    Panic sweat dribbled a line down his back. Why did they make babies so damn small? And loud. Surely better arrangements could be made for the propagation of the human race.
    Holding his breath, he lifted, angled, fit and let it out again when the bellows simmered down to whimpers.
    In the kitchen, Fran whipped eggs in a