The timer on the oven went off. As Henry crossed the kitchen to check on the turkey, he tossed his brother the potato masher.
"Get mashing," he ordered, gesturing at the pot of potatoes on the stove.
Jack rolled his eyes, but didn't protest. He poured some milk into the pot and mashed silently for a few moments before glancing over at his brother, who was bending over, peering into the oven.
An evil grin crossed Jack's face as he looked back down at the masher in his hand, which was now covered in potatoes and milk.
"Hey, Henry," he asked, his eyes glinting with evil intent. "Do you remember Thanksgiving at Grandma's house when we were kids?"
"Yeah," Henry grunted, his back still turned to his brother. "Why?"
"Do you remember helping her make dinner?"
"Yeah…"
"Do you remember Potato Ball?"
Henry suddenly spun around, realizing with horror what his brother was thinking.
"Don't even think about it, Jackie," he growled, glaring across the kitchen at his brother, who was still grinning broadly.
"Why not?" he laughed, raising the masher over his head, poised to fling the potatoes at a moment's notice. "We used to do this all time!"
"No," Henry snapped, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "You used to do it, and I'd clean up after you. I spent hours scraping potatoes off the ceiling!"
"There you go again," Jack clucked, shaking his head from side to side disapprovingly. "Making it sound like it was all my fault. You could throw a pretty good potato ball yourself, Henry."
"I never played Potato Ball!"
"I think Grandma's broken serving dish would disagree," Jack snorted, crossing his arms across his chest, leaving a smear of potato on his sleeve as the masher grazed it.
Henry's jaw clenched, but after a moment he grinned ever-so-slightly.
"You ducked," he muttered bitterly.
"I know," Jack grinned back, lowering his weapon. "That was when you taught me the penny thing. You said there wasn't enough luck in all the pennies on earth to save our asses when Dad found out."
"And I was right," Henry insisted, closing the oven again and walking back over to the counter alongside his brother. "Until you came up with some story about pirates breaking in and destroying the dish. You made him laugh so hard he forgot he was pissed off at us."
Jack just shrugged, leaning against the counter as he tossed the potato masher back into the pot.
"I make my own luck. I don't need the pennies."
"I know."
Jack opened his mouth to say something else, but suddenly stopped when something in the living room caught his attention.
Henry turned his head and peered out the kitchen door, trying to follow his brother's line of sight, but all he saw were the backs of Madeline and Grandpa's heads as they sat on the couch, watching the parade on TV.
"I'm gonna hit the head," Jack murmured, suddenly walking out the door and running up the stairs.
Henry sighed, shaking his head as he picked up the masher and continued making the potatoes.
Something was going on with Jack.
He didn't know what it was…yet…but one thing was for damn sure.
He was definitely sleeping with a gun under his pillow tonight.
When Shawn came out of the bathroom, Uncle Jack was waiting for him in the hallway.
"Hey, Shawny," he grinned, keeping his voice quiet.
"Hi," Shawn replied, waving but not stopping.
"I didn't just bring you a penny, you know," Uncle Jack called after him just as he reached the top of the stairs.
Shawn turned back around slowly.
"What else did you bring me?" he asked, his eyes growing wide with excitement.
Jack looked both ways, as if there were enemy spies around who were desperate to steal his secret, then slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, leather pouch.
"Here," he grinned, tossing it to his nephew. Shawn quickly opened it. Inside were six tiny, white balls that looked something like little marbles.
"What are they?" he asked as he held up them up to the light. "Beads?"
"Pearls," Jack whispered, kneeling next to him. "Real ones. I want you to hold onto them for me."
"Really?" Shawn gasped. "Thanks, Uncle Jack!"
"Sure," Jack shrugged. "Why don't you go put them in your room? You don't want to lose them. That's real Incan treasure you're holding there."
"Wow!" Shawn gasped, dropping them back into the pouch and running back to his bedroom. "Wait until Gus hears I have real treasure!"
Jack grinned as Shawn disappeared down the hall, then turned around to head back downstairs. Grandpa was coming up them, watching Shawn head into his room.
"What did you give him?" he asked, stopping when he reached the landing. "I heard you say something about Incan treasure."
"Nothing," Jack shrugged, trying to step around his father. But Grandpa wasn't buying it.
"Come on, Jack," he sighed, gently pushing his son back from the stairs. "Tell me."
"It's nothing, Dad! Really!"
Grandpa met Jack's eyes, searching them for the truth.
"When Henry find out about whatever it is--" he started, but Jack already knew where he was going.
"I know," he grinned. "There won't be enough luck in all the pennies on earth to save my ass."