When he saw Tom’s ‘79 Malibu pul ing into the driveway, he jumped up and hurried to the kitchen. He pul ed out the bag of pistachios and, while Kate
and Mom weren’t looking, emptied the envelope with the tepin-treated nuts on the counter. He’d just tucked the envelope into his back pocket when Kate
turned and saw the pile.
She frowned. “I’d eat those right now, Jack. You-know-who just arrived.”
Good old Kate, always looking out for him.
Jack shrugged. “They’l be okay.”
She shook her head. “You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you.”
“Trust me, Kate,” he said with a smile. “I’m anything but a glutton for punishment.”
But, he thought, I’ve arranged some punishment for the glutton.
He started shel ing pistachios but ate them instead of adding them to the pile. He tensed as he heard the frontdoor screen slam. This was it. Tom stil
had a chance. He could turn Jack’s plan into wasted effort by walking past and leaving the pistachios where they were. His fate was in his own hands.
Jack pretended to be looking the other way as his big brother breezed into the kitchen. Without breaking stride and without the slightest hesitation, Tom
swept the nuts off the counter and into his hand, then popped them al into his mouth.
Jack yel ed, “Hey!”
Kate said, “Tom!”
Mom hadn’t noticed and Tom said nothing as he opened the refrigerator and reached for a beer. He never made it. He froze in mid-reach, then
coughed and spat the nuts into his palm.
“What the—?” As he turned toward Jack, his face started to redden. “What did you—?” Then the redness darkened. “Oh, my God!”
As Tom dove for the sink, Jack remembered what Mr. Canel i had said about water making the burning worse. He felt it only fair to warn Tom, but he
lowered his voice, Wil y Wonka style.
“Stop. Don’t. Come back.”
“Dear Lord!” Mom cried as Tom dumped the partial y chewed nuts in the sink and turned on the water.
He didn’t wait to get a glass, simply tilted his head under the faucet and let the water run into his mouth.
“Tom?” Kate said. “What on Earth are you doing?”
Tom lifted his head—his face was almost purple now—and pointed to Jack. “That little bastard—!”
Mom whipped him with her dish towel. “Thomas! I wil not have that kind of language in this house. Now you—”
Tom wailed and stuck his mouth under the faucet again.
“The burning!” he croaked between gulps. “I can’t stop the burning!”
Jack watched him, trying to keep from smiling. He felt like going over there and dancing around him, chanting,
Kate turned to Jack. “What did you do?”
Jack raised his hands, palms up, and shrugged. “Nothing much. Just spiced them up a little.”
She smiled. “With what? Pepper?”
Jack nodded.
“What kind? Jalapeno? Habanero?”
“Hotter.”
She began to laugh. “Oh, this is rich—this is too rich!”
“It’s not funny!” Tom yel ed, his voice echoing from down in the sink.
Mom was clueless. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong with him?”
“He poisoned me!” Tom cried, then went back to drinking.
Mom obviously knew that wasn’t true, because she was half smiling as she turned to Jack.
“Why did you poison your brother, Jackie?”
Kate was stil laughing. “Tom stole his pistachios, but they had pepper on them!”
Mom hit Tom again with the towel.
