“Okay okay. I’ll be job hunting, anyway.”

“What else is new?”

“Ma, not today. So—I guess you’ve heard about Lewis.”

“What about him?”

“Paris didn’t call you this morning?”

“She called last night.”

“And she didn’t say anything about him?”

“Get to the damn point, would you, girl?”

“He’s in jail. But this time he’s going to be in there for a while. Maybe even as much as a year. It depends. His case might end up going to trial.”

“What? For what?”

“He struck Donnetta’s husband with a sponge mop.”

“What you mean, struck?”

“He hit him with the wooden handle of a mop.”

“I know you lying.”

“I wish I was.”

“I don’t even wanna know the details. This day been chock-full of some of everything, I know that much. He done hit . . . I swear to God, I don’t know where that boy was when they was passing out common sense.”

“I might go see him next week.”

“You knock yourself right on out. Where’s George?”

“He’s not living here anymore. I told you that.”

“We’ll see,” I say. “But let me say this: if he stay gone, I’ll give you a whole lotta credit.”

“I’m trying, Ma. I’m trying. Kiss Shanice for me. I took a pill that’s made me sleepy and I need to close my eyes.”

“Then don’t let me stop you. Talk to you later. And thanks for my birthday present. As soon as I lose ten or fifteen pounds, I’m going straight to the Savvy Department. Thank you, baby.” I make a kissing sound into the phone and then hang up. “Shanice!” I yell. “Unplug that phone from the wall, would you? I don’t wanna talk to another soul.”

“Okay, Granny. But what about the door? I think Grandpa Cecil just pulled up.”

“Shit! It’s my birthday and I wanna take a nap!” I say, and crawl over the edge of the bed and go straight to the front door and open it. “What can I do for you, Cecil?” He still wearing that Sammy Davis shirt and them James Brown pants. Some things just don’t change.

“I told you I wanted to bring you a little something for your birthday.”

“What is it?” I ask, talking to him through the screen door. I ain’t opening it until I feel like it, and he ain’t coming in here, I don’t care what he got for me.

“Whose car is that in the driveway?”

“My friend’s.”

“What friend is that?”

“That would be none of your business, Cecil. Now, what you got? ’Cause I’m supposed to be getting dressed.”

“Where you going?”

I take a deep breath. And then, just to satisfy his curiosity, I say: “We going bowling.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Do I know this fella?”

“I doubt it. I just met him myself, how you gon’ know him, too?”

“Vegas ain’t that big,” he says.

“Look, Cecil, you gon’ give me the present today or tomorrow? ’Cause I ain’t got all day,” I say, cracking the screen door open wide enough for him to hand me something through it.