“Bless you. I do, Vy. You’ve got such good taste.”

“So do you, Loretta. What you talking about? I just don’t like ruffles as much as you do, that’s all. Come on around this corner and see how big my bedroom is.”

“I’m coming,” she says. “Boy oh boy, these ceilings are so high. And you’ve even got a little backyard out there. This is just perfect. I wish I had a daughter like you.”

“I feel blessed to have all my kids, even when they make me mad,” I say. “I can’t wait to put my new bedroom set in here, and I’m still gon’ have plenty of room. When I start taking that class to get my day-care license, and if I get a job that won’t mess up my Social Security checks, I might buy one of them loveseats or a chaise lounge, like Marlene Dietrich used to lay on, remember those?”

“Of course I do. You’re still thinking about working at a day care, Vy?”

“I don’t know, Loretta. I can’t hardly add two and two no more, I don’t know what kinda class I’ma take, but I’ma learn how to do something. That much I do know.” I sneeze again.

“Bless you.”

“Thanks. Okay, Loretta, get the camera and hurry up and take my picture. I gotta get outta here, ’cause this paint is starting to get to me, I ain’t lying.”

“It could also be the new carpet, you know. I read somewhere that people with asthma shouldn’t be around new carpet, because something they treat it with can trigger an attack.” She reaches in her big purse and gets out the Polaroid. “Lean against that wall there. It’ll look more professional with a white background.”

And I do. I smile, showing off my new teeth, and turn a little to the side, showing off my new body. I’m wearing those leggings all the young girls wear and a black cotton T-shirt.

“Say ‘pizza’!”

“Pizza. I know that, Loretta. That’s why I ain’t moving in till next week. So let’s go. Plus, I gotta stop and get some gas, and pick up my prednisone and theophylline prescriptions, ’cause I’m all outta both of ’em, and then get Shanice. She only got a half-day of school today. Will you take another one, just in case?”

“Okay, Vy,” she says, “say ‘pizza’ again!”

“I wanna say ‘cheese’!” And the flash goes off.

“The first one came out really nice. You look so much younger,” Loretta says, and starts putting her shoes back on. I made her take ’em off when she came in here. I took mine off, too. But when I move in, I ain’t making nobody take off they shoes, except if they look too dirty. “Is Cecil helping you move?”

“I wouldn’t ask Cecil to help me move if he paid me. I’m starting a new life, Loretta, and he ain’t nowhere in it. Simple as that.”

“Well, I just wondered, Vy.”

“I know, Lo. I didn’t mean to get testy about it.”