Jackson Henry demanded, standing in the threshold between the hallway and James’s bedroom. James opened half an eye and read the neon digits on his clock. It was 11:00 a.m. He groaned and covered his head with his pillow. This laborious maneuver was unsuccessful in blocking out his father’s complaining. “I had to eat that God-awful cereal you bought for your big diet. That crap tastes like twigs and bark. Next time you’re gonna sleep this late, let me know and I’ll go outside and eat some pine mulch.” Jackson paused, waiting for a reaction. “What are you doin’ in bed anyhow? Don’t tell me you got fired from the easiest job in the world? ’Cause you ain’t sick. If you were, folks wouldn’t be calling over here and invitin’ you to breakfast. Don’t they know it’s almost lunchtime? Your friends on dope or somethin’?” James pushed the pillow off of half of his face. “Who called, Pop?”
