A Good Shot

Brandon and Jeff scrubbed the mess of egg yolk and tomato off the side of the neighbor’s house with soapy water. Practicing their pitching arms by throwing tomatoes and eggs at the neighbor’s house had seemed like an interesting way to pass a boring summer afternoon…. Until the neighbor called the police and a squad car showed up at their house—lights flashing. Bummer. After making the boys apologize to the neighbor, the officer had set the boys to work scrubbing egg yolk and tomato guts off the house.
“Man!” Jeff said. “Why do I always get in trouble every time I’m at your house?”
“Hey, you were the one who suggested it,” said Brandon. Don’t blame me.”
“Yeah, but you were the one who said your neighbor wasn’t home.”
“Well, it looked like she wasn’t home. The lights were off and there was no car in the driveway or anything.”
“This is sick man...just sick,” said Jeff, slapping a soapy sponge against the house. “Tomato and egg yolk— looks like blood and snot.”
“Dude...that’s gross!” said Brandon.
Claire Peterson looked out her kitchen window at the two boys scrubbing the side of her house. Claire could not help but smile. She missed having kids around, even if they caused all kinds of mischief. Jim, her baby, had moved to California ten years ago when he got married. It had been three...no, four years since he had been home for Christmas. A familiar loneliness clouded Claire’s eyes. Jim used to get himself into all sorts of trouble just like those two boys scrubbing her house. Claire’s mouth titled as she remember when Jim was four years old and she caught him eating dog food. Or even worse, when he climbed to the top of the pine tree in the back yard and got stuck. She had had to call the fire department to get him down.
“Well,” said Claire, “now that I have some company over, let’s see if I can keep them for a while.” Claire turned up the cuffs of her knit sweater and tied on her apron. Time to bake cookies. Twenty minutes later, Jeff and Brandon sat bashfully at her kitchen table. Claire slid the gooey cookies onto a plate with a spatula.
“Hu hum....” said Claire, “Hats off at the table, boys.”
Jeff and Brandon swiped off their hats and set them on the table, their hair stuck up in all directions. Better not upset the old lady, thought Jeff. She might call the police again and put us in the slammer. Claire set the plate of cookies on the table and sat across from Jeff and Brandon.
“We’re really sorry about throwing stuff at your house ma’m,” said Brandon.
“Yeah, we shouldn’t of done it,” echoed Jeff.
“I already said I forgive you boys,” said Claire. “Go ahead and eat those cookies, I just want to talk to you a minute.” But she made the boys do most of the talking. She asked them question after question about school and their families and what they liked to do for fun. As Jeff and Brandon answered her questions they started to relax— the cookies were working like a charm. Claire scooted her chair closer and rested her wrinkled elbows on the edge of the table, enjoying the endless prattle coming from the two boys.
“These were good cookies,” said Jeff, taking the last one off the plate. The corners of his mouth stained with chocolate.
“Yeah,” said Brandon. “I’ve never had cookies right out of the oven before. My mom doesn’t make cookies.”
“Why not?” asked Claire.
“I dunno. I guess she is just too tired all the time. She started a new job and she is never home till I am asleep.”
“Well, now that I know I have two neighbors who love my cookies so much you will just have to come over again some time.”
“Sweet!” said Jeff. “Uh…I mean thank you Mrs. Peterson.”
“Please call me Grandma Claire…it sound so much better” said Claire with a smile.
“Alright, we’ll see you later Grandma Claire,” said Brandon.
“Before you leave I just wanted to ask you a question,” said Claire. She picked up the empty plate and put it in the sink. “Out of all the houses in the neighborhood, why did you egg my house?”
Jeff shrugged his shoulders, “It was just a good shot.”