One-Two knew he wasn’t invited just out of good-neighborliness, so he held his breath through dinner. He sipped his coffee cautiously as the girls cleaned up, and was quietly friendly when they jumped on his lap and demanded attention. He made polite guy talk with Lester, who urged him toward more risqué stories. One-Two kept within the bounds of what an older neighbor should encourage. He read the newspaper with resolute attention while Betty readied all the children for bed like a sergeant, though he had read it twice already, once in the morning and again up under the trusses of the Mendota Bridge, which was beginning to crumble.

After it was all done Betty took off her sweater and slumped in her chair. She steadied One-Two in her sights and he knew it was coming.

“I don’t want Simon workin steel.”

“You make a damn fine stew, Betty.”

“I don’t want him up there.”

“Lotta people’d be glad to have their kids earnin money above the streets instead of stealin it on them.”

“You callin Simon a crook?”

“I’m callin the city dangerous.”

“You ain’t his dad, One-Two,” she said as she shook a cigarette from her pack.

“I seen it happen. I know this place.”

“You don’t know us.”

One-Two sighed and drained his coffee.

“I came back from Korea. I came back here and this place was jumping. They wanted to demo half the city. Wasn’t much being built but they threw new crews together all the time. Now the buildings are going up. It’s the only place we can get a good wage. The only way we can get union.”

“He ain’t old enough. They gonna let a sixteen-year-old in the union?”

“I was shootin gooks in Korea when I was sixteen.”

“I ain’t gonna debate you over my son. I got him this far. Not you. I got us off the rez in one piece. Not you. I buried their daddy. Not you. I make rent on this place. Okay? I know what I’m doin.”

“Okay, Betty. Okay,” he said, raising his hands palm forward in submission. “All I’m doin is tryin to help.”

“Then just keep your eye on him.”

“I got both my eyes on all of you.”

Betty tried to ignore the double meaning and earnest stare.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Worry ain’t what it is.”

Betty looked down. “Don’t waste your time. I ain’t got it in me.”

“Everyone’s got it in them.”

“Not me. Not now.”

“You cook a mean meal.”

“Gotta be good at somethin.”

“You good at a whole lot more.”

“I’m tryin,” she said, shivering in mock cold, to add some movement to the conversation which had gotten so still, so full and heavy with meaning.

“You cold?” asked One-Two rising to the bait.

“A bit. Just a little.”