A slow, sneaky smile crossed Auntie Glo’s face as she bounced little Nicky on her lap and fed him applesauce. “He never learns. No home training. So lame.”

Midnight stuck his tongue out at her. He had put out what they always used for dinner, the Brawny towels Granny had the coupon for: two rolls for the price of one. Jamming his toe against one of the table legs, he said, “Sorry.”

Miss Ruth patted his arm, and while he could barely feel her touch through his shirt, his heart slammed against the walls of his chest. She said, “Don’t worry about it, Lena. I use paper towels all the time. They’re preferable over napkins. They don’t disintegrate in water and they absorb a whole lot better.” Then she looked at Midnight. “Do you know why that is?”

“I don’t know,” he said, disappointed that she sounded like one of his teachers and frustrated with himself for not knowing the answer, especially since it was a question about science, his favorite subject.

“The paper is woven together loosely. That allows liquid to move easily among the fibers,” Ruth said, unfolding the paper towel next to her plate and placing the square on her lap.

Then he remembered. “One time my friend Corey and I did this experiment with kitchen sponges. We had a whole bunch of different kinds like natural and artificial and we had to see which ones could hold the most water.”

Interrupting his story, Granny asked if anybody wanted refills on lemonade. Before anybody could respond, the front door opened, and he heard Daddy’s voice. “Smells like I’m right on time.”

In a low voice, Mr. Eli said, “I think I just lost my appetite.”

Granny pulled an extra chair from her bedroom and pushed it up to the table. “Have a seat, Butch. You’re late, but there’s plenty.”

“You didn’t tell me he was coming.” Mr. Eli folded his arms across his chest and glared at his mother.

Daddy sucked the air from the room. “My family, my house. If you don’t like it, leave.”

Granny chewed her bottom lip and dumped more food on everybody’s plates, as if that would make them act nice. She left the table momentarily and returned with a bottle of Scotch and placed it on the table in front of Daddy. Maybe to keep him calm. He tipped the bottle and chugged as if it were a jug of milk.

It got so quiet that all Midnight heard was forks tapping against teeth. This time when Granny got up, she grabbed the remote and turned on a news channel. The anchor said something about car companies getting bailed out, but Midnight had heard of that happening only when somebody went to jail. Like the time Drew got arrested for reckless driving and Daddy bailed him out.

Miss Ruth cleared her throat and said, “Well, this is good for the automakers. I think Obama’s got a plan to fix things, and who knows, maybe Fernwood will be back in business.”

No one agreed or disagreed with her, and Midnight didn’t know enough to have an opinion. He’d heard a bit about the election in social studies class. Miss Hightower called it historic but told the kids they weren’t allowed to say who their parents had voted for.

“No way,” Daddy said. “I’ll believe it when I see it. These big auto manufacturers make all this money on the backs of the little guy then can’t pay their bills. Hey, I can’t pay mine, either. Is Obama gonna bail me out?”

Mr. Eli shook his head. “You dumbass. The big guy creates jobs for the little guy. They win, you win.”

Every time Daddy and Mr. Eli raised their voices in disagreement, Miss Ruth changed the subject to something less toxic, like how toned Michelle Obama’s arms looked in sleeveless dresses. She’d also read that Barbara and Jenna Bush had given Malia and Sasha Obama a fun tour of the White House, where they all jumped on the beds and took turns sliding down a solarium banister. That story made Midnight miss the baby sister he never got to meet.

Moving away from talk of politics, Granny said, “Well, Christmas will be here in a couple days. I hope business will pick up. Too many people buying gifts on eBay. How are small businesses supposed to make it?”

Daddy bit into a crunchy slice of garlic bread. “Ask Eli over here about eBay. He’s been stealing tire sensors and gear sticks from the plant and putting them up on eBay for years.”

Midnight’s mouth went dry. Nobody spoke at first until Mrs. Tuttle put her hand on Mr. Eli’s arm. She said, “Let it go. Just eat.”

Ignoring her, he slammed his hands on the table. “You want to talk about stealing? You stole from Fernwood every damn day when you came in to work an hour late and then took six smoke breaks. If they hadn’t laid you off first, they would’ve fired you. Your hands are dirty up in here. Trying to point fingers at me.”

Daddy jabbed his index finger in Eli’s face. “I’ll point at you anytime I want. What’s dirty is what runs in your veins. I remember hearing about your grandpappy using the old rubber band trick to get a machine to work. I bet people died on the road ’cause of him cutting all kinds of corners to meet specs.”

Something Midnight couldn’t name charged the air and he waited for the next explosion. Miss Ruth reminded him of a block of stone, her body stiff, rigid with rage. He could see it in her eyes. He worried she might slap Daddy. Maybe she should. Why did he have to always ruin things? When she finally spoke, her voice was scary low. “You keep Papa’s name out of your mouth.”