“Be nice Dad.”

“I am nice.”

“No, mean it Dad. Be nice. Ryan is a sensitive kid,” Ronnie leaned in and whispered into his father’s ear. “Marilyn is already nervous about letting him stay here.”

“Stop breathing on me boy. I am always nice. Ask your momma. She like me or you wouldn’t be here,” Roscoe said. “It’s not my fault your woman don’t like you.”

Roscoe laughed and then wheezed into a hacking smoker’s cough. Ryan glanced up at his grandfather. Not his grandpa Joe, his mother’s father who collected model planes that were only for looking not touching and took him for waffles, this was his grandfather, Roscoe. Roscoe used to come over their house for big holidays. With a suede hat tilted over one eye, Grandfather Roscoe always had a Black and Mild cigarillo between his teeth and a laugh that shook the table. He hadn’t been around so much lately. Ryan wrinkled his nose and went back to playing Battleship.

“None of that. No foul language. No booze. No smoking of anything. None of your roughneck biker buddies. We have our contact information and Ryan’s schedule. He’s allowed another thirty minutes of screen time. And his book is in his backpack.”

Ronnie gestured towards his son, a slight boy dwarfed by a giant bag. Ryan’s head was buried in his tablet. Leaning forward slightly, Roscoe inspected the boy. He could tell Ryan was all ears.

“Son, I’m an old man. Sure I used to tear it up back in the day. Grown men would tremble and grown women would swoon at the mere mention of name. Junior is on prowl. But now that your mother’s gone and I’m older and wiser,” Roscoe said, gathering the blanket on his lap higher up his middle.

“Dad, mom is not dead. She moved to Atlanta with her new husband. I just need you to …”

Roscoe threw his son a look. Ronnie looked around for a better word than “behave.” With its tired metal furniture and mom’s dead petunias, the porch of his childhood home held no answers. Ronnie’s watch chimed. He looked at his father and looked at son. Swiftly, he leaned over and hugged his dad and hugged and kissed his boy. Both looked uncomfortable with Ronnie’s gesture.

“Look I got to run. Ryan listen to your grandfather and don’t do … anything.”

Ronnie hurried down the cement stoop to his car. Roscoe gave a frail wave as his son drove off. Boldly, the grandfather and son appraised one another. Roscoe pulled out his son.

“So, little man, do you like animals?” Roscoe said as he called a number on his phone.

Thinking of a petting zoo, Ryan shrugged.

“Cool, little man, cool. Jean Paul, I got a hot tip for the third. We’ll meet you at the dog races and later we’ll connect with Sweet Pete and the ladies at the Lodge,” Roscoe said.

Twirling away the blanket, Roscoe donned his blazer. He popped his collar and reached for his hat. Without looking back, he swaggered to his Chrysler with Ryan running behind.

“