Here is my story, in honor of my Uncle George, who passed away this week, my Uncles Charlie (Peewee) and Eddie and my Dad (always the sneaky one). I entered this story to Janet Reid’s short story contest. We were required to use the following words:
“He’ll be fair. Bank on it.”
“I don’t know, Ricky. Stakes are high, there’s no room for—”
“You ever know me to not think through everything? Not work through any flaws in the plan?”
“Still, Peewee said it was pivotal—”
“Ah, he’s filling your head with words you don’t know. Trust me on this, George. We’re golden here, like honey. Wagon’s here! Let’s do this.”
The boys walked up to the car, now idling in the driveway. Their older brother Eddie, the only one allowed to drive the sacred family wagon, rolled down the window and turned to face them, a doubtful look in his eyes.
“Hey bro, we hear there’s a two-fer at the Dairy Queen. If we take Peewee, then there’d be one left over for you.”
Little Ricky knew everyone’s weak spot, and his brother’s was the sweet siren song of the Dilly Bar.