Hiding in Martha's arms with red-rimmed eyes, Dio's little face scrunched up in a pitiful frown.
Clark stood awkwardly to the side, clutching a tattered book still smeared with pig slop.
"Uncle Rock!" The moment Clark saw his uncle, he rushed over like he'd spotted a lifeline, his blue eyes brimming with panic. "You gotta hear me out—I didn't mean to pick on Dio!"
At those words, Dio buried his face deeper into Martha's apron, his shoulders trembling with soft, muffled sobs.
Rock raised an eyebrow, his gaze bouncing between the two kids.
As the boys had grown older, scenes like this had played out way too many times in recent years. Dio always managed to pull off the most innocent act, leaving Clark stumbling over his words, unable to defend himself.
Rock didn't know why Dio acted this way, but whenever he tried to ask, Dio would just mumble and hide under his blanket, refusing to talk.
Rock was starting to feel worn out.
Could it really be that a person's nature is set in stone from birth?
"Clark?" He stretched out the name, crouching down to meet Clark's eyes. "So, what happened?"
Clark's face turned red with frustration.
"I just wanted to see what book Dio was reading, and maybe—okay, I might've accidentally let it slip?" He hung his head, clearly upset with himself. "I'm sorry. I forgot to control my strength, and the book flew out of my hands into the pig trough."
"So it was an accident?" Rock asked.
"Yes! Totally an accident!" Clark nodded vigorously, then added glumly, "But Dio says I did it on purpose."
"But—"
Dio finally lifted his head from Martha's lap, tears clinging to his lashes, his voice barely a whisper. "That book was the one Dad bought me just last week."
What a move, Rock thought, shaking his head inwardly. Dio could've just ratted Clark out, but instead, he played up the book's sentimental value, practically screaming, I'm the good kid who's been wronged.
And it worked.
"Oh, poor Dio," Martha cooed, pulling him closer. "Clark really needs to learn to control his strength."
"I didn't mean to!"
Clark stomped his foot in frustration, the wooden floor creaking under the force.
Sensing things were about to spiral, Rock cleared his throat.
"Clark, what do you do when you break someone's stuff?"
"Apologize," Clark mumbled, turning to Dio with a pout. "I'm sorry, Dio. I'll clean your book up later."
Blinking his still-teary red eyes, Dio flashed an angelic smile.
"It's okay, Clark. I know you didn't mean it."
Rock could hardly believe the kid's lightning-fast mood switch.
Is this really a seven-year-old?
"Oh, looks like we're all good here!" Jonathan called out, strolling back into the room with a relieved clap of his hands. "Come on, kids, it's time for dinner. Martha made apple pie, and Rock's slow-roasted brisket should be ready!"
"I wanna sit with Dad!"
Dio hopped off Martha's lap, scampering over to Rock and grabbing his hand with an obedient grin. He even tossed a sweet smile back at Clark. "Come on, Clark!"
"...Huh?"
Clark stood there, dumbfounded, his face screaming, What just happened?
Rock rubbed his temples.
Leaning down, he whispered so only Dio could hear, "Take it easy, you little gremlin."
"What're you talking about, Dad?" Dio's smile didn't falter as he whispered back, "I just wanna get along with Clark."
"..."
"Alright, let's eat," Rock said, louder now. "Clark, come with me to check on the brisket."
"Woohoo! Brisket!"
Dio stayed behind, watching as Rock and Clark headed outside. His sweet smile slowly faded.
His fingers absentmindedly twisted the hem of his shirt, a flicker of darkness passing through his ruby-red eyes.
"Stupid Clark!" he seethed inwardly. Always acting pitiful to get Dad's attention.
He'd set up the perfect scene, but all it took was Clark's clueless puppy-dog look to steal Rock's focus.
Dio's gaze lingered on Clark's back, specifically on the grass-stained plaid shirt he was wearing.
He remembered that shirt—Dad had bought it, but Dio thought it was too tacky and never wore it.
Now, somehow, it was on Clark.
---
The setting sun stretched the shadow of the grill across the yard.
Rock lifted the heavy iron lid, and the rich aroma of smoked meat, laced with fruity woodsmoke, hit them like a wave.
Clark stood nearby, eyes glued to the grill, though his expression was still a bit sulky.
"Still upset?" Rock asked, poking at the coals with an iron hook, sparks crackling in the air.
"I really didn't mean it," Clark muttered, kicking a pebble. Under Rock's exasperated glance, the pebble sailed into the clouds with one accidental flick of his foot. "The book—"
"I know."
Rock cut him off, pulling a pocketknife from his jacket. "Lean down."
Confused, Clark bent over, and Rock used the knife to slice open a corner of the foil. Amber-colored juices spilled out, glistening temptingly in the firelight.
He quickly carved off a small piece of caramelized brisket and popped it into Clark's mouth.
"Whoa!" Clark's eyes went wide.
The crispy crust shattered between his teeth, the tender meat melting on his tongue, bursting with black pepper and maple syrup sweetness. He clapped a hand over his mouth, as if afraid the flavor might escape.
"Good, right?" Rock winked.
Clark nodded like a bobblehead, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.
"That's how you keep your head down and win, Clark," Rock said, rewrapping the foil, his voice low. "Instead of arguing, just wait for the real rewards."
Clark swallowed the bite, a smudge of sauce still on his lips, and gave a half-confused nod.
Rock wiped the sauce off with his thumb, adding, "Dio's got a bit of a unique personality, but he's a good kid deep down. Try to cut him some slack."
A breeze ruffled Clark's curly black hair, carrying the scent of distant alfalfa fields.
"I know. He's my brother, after all," Clark said softly, staring at his muddy work boots. Then, almost shyly, he added, "Uncle Rock... can I have another piece?"
Rock let out a quiet laugh and sneaked him a bigger chunk.
"Chew slowly."
"Mm-hmm!"
Clark, now wise to the game, crouched behind the grill like a bear cub who'd found a honey pot, savoring the brisket in tiny bites.
His blue eyes sparkled in the twilight, the earlier gloom completely gone.
Just then, Martha's voice called from the house, "Dinner's ready!"
"Let's go," Rock said, clapping Clark's shoulder. "You're the guy who can lift a haystack, after all."
Clark nodded eagerly, then suddenly threw his arms around Rock in a tight hug—careful this time not to accidentally crack a rib like last time.
When they got back inside, Dio was already at the table, neatly folding napkins for everyone.
His eyes flicked to Clark's glossy lips, his red pupils narrowing slightly.
"Hey, Clark, you got something on your mouth," Dio said with a sugary smile.