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She hands back the gun and motions toward the larger weapons. “These are rifles?”
“Some are rifles. Some are shotguns.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Mostly in their barrels.” Nick removes a rifle from its hooks. “The rifle has a long barrel with thick walls to withstand high pressure, and these ridges here, what they call ‘rifling’—no surprise there,” he says with a chuckle, clearly relishing his role as educator, “they put a spiral spin on a bullet to increase its accuracy and distance. Rifles are typically used for firing at stationary targets,” he explains, returning the weapon to its previous position and removing another, “whereas shotguns, like this guy here, are typically used for shooting at moving targets in the air. They also have long barrels, although they’re thinner than a rifle’s, and they have a smooth bore that’s meant to reduce friction.”
“And speakin’ of bores,” Nick’s wife says, entering the den, looking decidedly uncomfortable in her unflattering knee-length shorts and loose-fitting golf shirt, “I’m sure Erin’s heard quite enough about barrels and friction and the like for one day.”
Nick puts the shotgun back inside the cabinet and locks it, returning the key to the top drawer of the desk. “You’re absolutely right. It appears that I’m as bad as Tyler with his damn fish.” He smiles. “I’ve left money by the phone in the kitchen so you can order pizza for dinner, if that works for you.”
“Sure does,” says Erin.
“Good. Then I believe we’re all set. Shall we be on our way?”
“Thank you so much for doin’ this for us,” Dani tells Erin. “We really appreciate it.”
“Anytime.” Erin follows the two doctors out of the room.
“Goodbye, sweetie,” Dani says to her older son, who is still concentrating on his fish. “You be a good boy and don’t give Erin any trouble. You hear?”
“I won’t.”
“Like I said,” Nick tells Erin when they reach the front door, “we shouldn’t be late.”
“Goodbye, Ben,” Dani calls up the stairs.
“ ’Bye,” Ben yells back as Tyler comes running from the kitchen to give his mother a hug.
“Okay, Goldilocks. Why don’t you go upstairs and play video games with your brother for a while?” Nick suggests.
“I don’t like video games,” Tyler says.
“Well, then, at least try not to bore Erin too much with that damn fish. Apparently, I’ve already bored her enough.” He smiles at his wife. “We want Erin to come back.”
“Have a good game,” Erin calls, watching the Wilsons climb into Nick’s big black Mercedes and back onto the street. She closes the door, surprised to find Tyler still at her side.
“You want to see Neptune jump through his hoop now?” he asks eagerly.
Erin smiles. “Sure.” They approach the fishbowl together, and she stares in awe as Tyler guides the small red fish with his index finger around the side of the bowl toward the neon yellow loop, then guides the fish through. “Wow,” she says, impressed. “Did you teach him that?”
“Yeah. But he’s really smart. He learns fast.”
“So, smartandbeautiful.”
“He’s the best,” Tyler says.
“What about the blue one?” Erin asks. “What tricks does he do?”
“He’s Ben’s fish. He doesn’t do anything.”
“Why doesn’t he have a name?”
“Ben won’t give him one.” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “He’s says there’s no point. So I just call him Blue.”
“That’s a perfect name.”
“Wanna see me feed Neptune? He eats right out of my hand.” Without waiting for a response, Tyler carefully deposits one small pellet of fish food onto the tip of his index finger and submerges it. Immediately, the fish swims up and grabs the pellet with his mouth, swallowing it. “He gets three a day,” Tyler explains, feeding him another. “You have to be careful not to overfeed them because bettas have very delicate stomachs. Are you bored?” he asks in the next breath.
