Flustered, I reach for the beer. Before I can wrap my fingers around it, Luther’s hand reaches it first. That idea of strangling is suddenly even more likely, but then I watch as he twists the top off for me. Oh. “Thank you,” I say as I take the open bottle from him. “Mine too.” Dad pushes his beer across the table toward Luther. “Open your own.” Luther shakes his head. “The caps hurt my hands,” Dad complains, pushing the beer even closer to Luther. Sighing, Jessie leans forward, grabs the bottle, twists off the top, flicks the cap at Luther, then hands the bottle to my dad. Dad flutters his
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