Spare the Rod
Jake Blevins was finishing his third mug of Budweiser when he finally confessed to his brother: “I’m gettin’ real worried about Ricky. I found him in his ma’s makeup case the other day. He painted his toes pink. Pink.”
Sam set down his own mug and gave Jake a concerned frown. “Did you discipline him proper?”
“I ... I did my best.” He took another swig of brew to quench his suddenly-dry mouth. His hand shook, he hoped not so badly that Sam could see. “I yelled at him and slapped the box outta his hands—broke the hinge, I got an earful about that later from his ma—and made him take the paint off with turpentine in the garage.”
“But did you spank him?”
The question made bile and beer rise in Jake’s throat. For a moment he thought he might puke right there on the cigarette-b
