"Hey, maybe we could take pictures of the yard after dinner. For Mom," I said.
Darby stopped turning her glass of ice water in circles and glared down at her placemat. "Are you going to throw the camera at me?"
Dad reached for another slice. "Why would you ask that, Darby?"
"I swear on my life I won't throw anything at you," I said.
"Are you throwing things at your sister again?" Dad asked, his forehead creased.
"The remote slipped out of my hand," I said. "Promise."
A faint smile twitched over Darby's mouth. "Would you swear on a new Bobby Fever bookmark?"
In that moment, I knew I'd failed as a big sister. Bobby Fever wailed crap into a microphone and made it sound like musical ecstasy to preteen girls. Color me unimpressed.
I slapped a hand over my eyes. "You're killing me, woman."
Her laughter tickled the air. We were good again. Bobby Fever was useful for something, at least.