241 · LITTLE BROTHER
“That’s what I’ve been wondering, too,” I said. “It could be a long time, I suppose. But who knows? With Barbara’s article coming out — ” I’d queued an email to her for the next morning, too — ”and all, maybe we’ll be heroes in two weeks.” “Maybe,” she said and sighed. I put my arm around her. Her shoulders were shaking. “I’m terrified,” I said. “I think that it would be crazy not to be terrified.” “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah.” Mom called us to dinner. Dad shook Ange’s hand. He looked unshaved and worried, the way he had since we’d gone to see Barbara, but on meeting Ange, a little of the old Dad came back. She kissed him on the cheek and he insisted that she call him Drew. Dinner was actually really good. The ice broke when Ange took out her hot-sauce mister and treated her plate, and explained about Scoville units. Dad tried a forkful of her food and went reeling into the kitchen to drink a gallon of milk. Believe it or not, Mom still tried it after that and gave every impression of loving it. Mom, it turned out, was an undiscovered spicy food prodigy, a natural. Before she left, Ange pressed the hot-sauce mister on Mom. “I have a spare at home,” she said. I’d watched her pack it in her backpack. “You seem like the kind of woman who should have one of these.”