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terror that freakish violence would rob her of her younger boy as well. Had it been possible, she would have kept Wade by her side waking and sleeping, locked away from the risks of life. Nothing frightened her more than his new driver's license. Their embattled negotiations over the Mustang that Judy's father, the bank president R.W. Gordon, had ridiculously bought his grandson (as a bribe to finish school) were as prolonged and labyrinthine as a war treaty, with peace never coming closer.
    â€œJust keep Mom off my back before I kill her and you both.” Wade repeated the warning without affect or without elaborating on how his twelve-year-old sister was supposed to accomplish this urgent task.
    Kaye stood there, still invisible to Wade. He could tell that the way Wade ignored him was embarrassing Noni. So he walked away, over to one of the green rockers on the porch, and sat down in it. Kaye had always felt a physical dislike of Wade; it was as instinctive as the affection he’d felt toward Noni's other brother, the older Gordon. While over the years he’d encountered Gordon no more than half-a-dozen times, his memories of him were warm and rich.
    Gordon had once told Kaye he “was taking a slow soul train to freedom,” and by his last year at college had quit his fraternity, grown his blond hair down to his shoulders, started playing the harmonica, and stopped wearing shoes. Kaye could remember seeing Gordon's long dirty white feet hopping warily over the icy lawn to untangle the Tildens’ old setter Royal Charlie from a prickly holly bush. He could remember the wry sweetness with which Gordon had winkedat him once, making him feel grown-up and smart, as the college senior had been arguing about the Vietnam War with his nasty-tempered grandfather, R.W. Gordon, in the Tildens’ driveway. The old man had shouted at him, with his typical coarseness, “Don’t shit where you sleep, boy. You know how rich I am?”
    Gordon had smiled, winking at Kaye. “Depends on what you mean by rich, Grandpa. Martin Luther King's the richest man I know.”
    Listening now to Wade whining at Noni, Kaye was thinking that it was Wade, not Gordon, they should have named after the bank president, for Wade far more resembled R.W. Gordon in both his irascible personality and rigid politics than his gentle older brother ever had.
    Two years ago, Kaye had heard from Noni about how Gordon had gone off to fight a war he didn’t believe in because Mrs. Tilden had made it clear that serving his country was expected of someone with the Gordon name. It was too bad, Kaye was thinking, it was a real shame that it had been Gordon and not Wade on whom a bomb had landed out of the Asian sky back in February.
    As if Wade had overheard this thought, he abruptly wheeled around in Kaye's direction. “Hey, Sly,” he said, “why don’t you just make yourself at home on my porch?”
    Noni said, “Wade!”
    Kaye rocked with exaggerated contentment in the green rocker. “Thanks, I will.”
    â€œIf you’re looking for your Aunt Yolanda, she's inside serving our guests.”
    Noni said, “Wade, stop it!”
    Kaye stood up, staring at Wade, grinned as he extended his middle finger, and then slowly turned his hand and formed the peace sign. “Mustang Sally, I’m just here to date your sister.”
    Noni said, “Kaye!”
    Fists tight, Wade lunged toward him. Kaye raised his own fists and grinned, “Come on.”
    But just then the door opened and Judy Tilden's head leaned out, her strawberry blonde hair pulled back by a burgundy velvet headband that matched her short burgundy velvet dress and burgundy satin pumps. She ignored Kaye and Noni both. “Wade, I need to speak to you for just a minute, sweetheart, right now.” Her head disappeared. The military cadet spun around, his face enflamed with rage as he slammed into the hall after her. “Great! What