“John, tuck those blankets under the mattress,” she instructed before turning her glare on her son. “I don’t care how high you are, Jonathan Robert Kavanagh Jr., I will cut it off if you so much as think about showing her.” “Show me what?” I asked nervously. “My dick,” Johnny announced, twisting to face me. “You wanna see?” He smiled lazily up at me. “It’s all better now.” Gibsie threw his head back and howled laughing. Mr. Kavanagh joined him. “And Jesus wept,” Mrs. Kavanagh sobbed. “He’s high, little Shannon,” Gibsie explained, still snickering. “As a fucking kite.”
