“Here,” he says, and hands me a plastic bag that looks like it’s from Philmon’s Hair Emporium, where I used to get my hair done till I decided to do it myself. But Philmon’s is a bookstore, too. So, when I open up the bag, it’s a book.

“Thank you, Cecil. It was very thoughtful of you.”

“You’re welcome. I guess we probably might need to be talking real soon about what we gon’ do about this house.”

“You can do anything you wanna do with it.”

“What you mean by that, Vy?”

“It means that I’m moving soon.”

“You moving with that man in there?”

“Lord, no. I wouldn’t live with another man at my age if you paid me. You cured me of that, Cecil. No, I’m doing one better than that. Paris is buying me my very own condominium.”

He actually gets a smile on his face. “Yeah,” he says, rubbing what might be new growth ’cause I see little gray prickly stubbles coming outta his face. “That’s our girl.”

“She certainly is.”

“We did something right, didn’t we, Vy?”

“I guess so. But, like I said, Cecil, I gotta go. And thanks again.”

“You’re welcome. Can I give you a little sugar? Not on your mouth. On your cheek.”

“That ain’t really necessary, Cecil.”

“I know. But I need to, Vy.”

“Oh, all right,” I say, and turn my face so my right cheek fits into the space I left open in the screen. His lips is dry, hard, and crusty, like he ain’t been kissing nothing. I almost feel sorry for him, but, then again, I don’t.

“Happy birthday,” he says, and turns and walks down the sidewalk and get in his red Lincoln, which, to my surprise, starts right up.

When I turn to look at Shanice, her mouth is covered with both hands, I guess from laughing so hard. She’s easing out from beside the refrigerator, where I see she been hiding. “You’re good, Granny.”

“Sometimes you gotta lie. I just don’t make it no habit. Now, let me go on and get ready and let’s get the hell outta here. To hell with taking a nap!”

I go on back in my bedroom and I’m pulling my yellow bowling T-shirt over my head that’s got “Lucky Strikes” in big red letters on the back when the phone rings.

“Shanice, I thought I told you to unplug the phone!”

“I did, Granny, but you didn’t unplug yours!”

“Shit,” I say, and answer it. It’s Essex. “When you gon’ get here, gal? We waiting on you!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Give me fifteen or twenty minutes, Essex.”

“Okay, but hurry up.” Essex been bugging me to get back down to the lanes ever since I got home from the hospital. I’m one of the few on our team that bowl 170, so they need me. They need me bad. LuEsther average 155 to 170, but she fluctuate from one week to the next, depending on how many hot flashes she having. Essex been bowling in the 180s for years. Me and him on a doubles team, but since I been out, he been forced to roll with Mr. Kentucky, who got a odor but don’t nobody have the nerve to tell him. We just get out his path when he roll, ’cause he can bowl his ass off.