Today's Reading
Speaking of LJ, where was he? And Dupree? Her old dinner bell had blown away during some storm or another. Back out on the porch, she looked toward the horizon for signs of her boys, thirteen and eleven, respectively.
They'd probably lost track of time.
Well, she'd wait. Tuesday sat on the old stone step and faced the beautiful, beautiful Starlight—she would love that place till the day she died—and wondered if Dirk had made it to the organ.
He had to know, as she and everyone in Sea Blue Beach, that no town in all of America, maybe the world, had a skating rink as grand and lovely as the Starlight. After all, it was built by a prince—Prince Rein Titus Alexander Blue, or Prince Blue as they called him—from faraway Lauchtenland, a tiny North Sea nation.
Tuesday hoped to go there one day, see where Prince Blue had lived before he crashed on their North Florida shore. He'd built the Starlight on the very spot, on the bedrock that held everything together—the sand and shells, the dirt and grass, trees, maybe even the Gulf itself. Certainly all of Sea Blue Beach.
"Ma, Ma." LJ, tall and lanky, sprinted down the driveway. Trailing behind was Dupree, pumping his still-short legs to keep up. "Can we skate tonight at the Starlight? Mr. Hoboth ain't there, but Burt says we can skate for free if we help clean up."
"That was kind of him."
Jud Hoboth, along with Burt, had managed the rink ever since Prince Blue left to command a Lauchtenland regiment during the Great War. Hoboth was a nice man, if not temperamental, with one foot out the door, always talking about adventures out west or down Mexico way. But what would happen to the Starlight if he just took off?
"Go on inside, wash your hands. Dinner's on."
"Can we go, huh? All the kids are going tonight."
"When have I ever said no to the Starlight? I might go too."
The house rattled as the boys ran up the stairs and fought to be first at minuscule bathroom sink. When they came down, their faces were washed, their hair combed and slicked back, and their shirts soaking wet.
Tuesday loved her boys.
She served them bowls of pork and beans, corn bread slathered in butter, and cold milk. "What'd y'all do today?"
In the summer, she let them tear all over God's green earth after morning chores. Growing boys needed to use up their energy. They came home to dinner stained, filthy, and full of stories, then scampered back outside until dark. Then it was bath time, followed by popcorn and their radio program, Jack Benny or Eddie Cantor, ever since baseball banned broadcast of their games.
"We went fishing on the beach," LJ said, dipping his corn bread in his bowl.
"We helped Cap'n Tatum unload a fresh haul." Dup gulped down his milk. "He gave us fifty cents, so we went to Biggs for candy. Got a milkshake at Alderman's too." He handed Tuesday his bowl for seconds.
"Then we got up a game of kickball with the fellas," LJ said. "We lost, thanks to Dup."
"Did not."
"Did so."
Tuesday returned Dup's bowl, steamy and full. "I thought two young men in this house wanted to go to the Starlight tonight."
That shut them up. Worked every time. The forty-five-year-old rink was loved by the entire Knight family. Even Leroy.
"I'm going to skate on a racing team when I get bigger," Dup said.
"Ah, you're not fast enough." LJ reached around and yanked Dup's hat from his head. "You're at the table."
"I am too fast enough. Take it back. Ma—"
"You'll be fast when you need to be." Tuesday gave LJ a side glance. Be nice.
When they finished eating and the boys had washed the dishes—which always included flinging Super Suds at each other—Tuesday said, "Get your skates. Bring mine as well."
...
