Ripley’s cheeks redden, timid all of a sudden. “My truck.” He grows more reserved at times and definitely when more people are around. It’s not just Donnelly. “Your truck? You can drive?” Ripley nods. Donnelly whistles. “Look at you. You’re already way cooler than your papa. You tell him Uncle Donnelly said so, yeah?” Ripley nods a ton, acting very serious. He’s good around babies. A fact I’ve known for a while after he made Ripley break into a giggling fit. At dinner one night, he did a magic trick with a disappearing grape. When Donnelly popped it out of his nose, Ripley doubled over
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