Sammy had grown tall this last year. At least five ten, which, according to Rina, had already made him a couple of inches taller than his late father. From the pictures Decker had seen of Yitzchak, the elder boy strongly resembled his dad—same long face, pointed chin, and sandy hair. His complexion was smooth and fair, freckles dabbling the bridge of his nose. His eyes were dark and quiet in their intelligence. He was also nearsighted like Yitzchak; Sam wore wire-rimmed spectacles. Jake had been the one to inherit Rina’s stunning baby blues, her 20/20 eyesight as well.

The boys were still in their school uniform—white shirt and navy slacks. The fringes of their prayer shawls—their tzitzit—were hanging past the hems of their untucked shirts. Jake wore a knitted yarmulke, its colors designed to look like a slice of watermelon. Sammy had on a black, leather kippah embossed with his Hebrew name in gold letters.

“How’s it going, boys?” Decker asked. “What’re you doing?”

Sammy put down his textbook. “A paper on the evolution of the American Ideal through the literature of Mark Twain. A real conversation stopper.” He rubbed his eyes under his glasses, peered at Decker. “You look real tired, Dad. Maybe you should go eat something. I think Eema left you something in the oven.”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

“No, I just thought…” Sammy frowned. “Jeez, try and be a nice guy around here. Do whatever you want.” His eyes went back to his notes. He picked up a highlighter and started underlining.

Well, that was spiffy, Deck. He shifted his weight, wondered what to do next. Jake came to his rescue. “You have a hard day, Dad?”

“Not too bad.”

“Felons took the day off?”

“Never.”

“But no famous people accused of murdering their wives.”

“No, not today.”

“Too bad,” Jake said. “You woulda looked cool on the witness stand.”

“Thank you, I’ll pass.”

Sammy said, “Jeez, Dad, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Adventure is for the young,” Decker said. “I’m just a stodgy old coot.”

“You’re not a coot,” Sammy said. “What is a coot anyway?”

“A simpleton,” Decker answered.

“Nah, you’re definitely not a coot.”

“As opposed to stodgy and old.”

“Well, better too stodgy than too cool.” Jake grinned. “You read that article in the paper? ’Bout the father who was arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor or something like that with a stripper?”

“What’s this?” Sammy’s interest was piqued.

Jake guffawed as he spoke. “A father hired a stripper to perform at his son’s twelfth birthday.”

Sam wrinkled up his nose. “That’s gross.” His smile was wide. “Kinda fun, I bet, but gross.”

Jake was doubled over. “One of the kids…told his mother. The mother complained and they arrested the guy…stupid jerk. The father said he was just trying to be a ‘cool dad.’”