“Granny?” She hands me my pills, opens that warm soda, and gives me my inhaler.

“Yeah,” I say, after swallowing them and taking a puff, but I start coughing, ’cause my chest been feeling tight and this is what happens when it starts opening up. I take another puff, just to make sure.

“You all right, Granny?”

“Yep. I’m okay now, baby. Here, you can put it back.”

She drops the inhaler in my purse. “Would you be mad at me if I told you I don’t wanna go home when I get back from camp?”

“No, I wouldn’t be mad. But why don’t you wanna go home? George done been arrested. And your mama’s there all by herself.”

“That’s true, but Mama said they can’t keep him in jail unless I let them examine me and do that stupid interview, which I am not doing. Period.”

“Why not? If that’s what it’s gon’ take to put that son-of-a-bitch where he belong—in San Quentin somewhere—why won’t you?”

“ ’Cause I can’t. I just can’t. I want to forget about this whole thing, and every time I look around here comes another reminder.”

“Maybe you just need a little more time to think about it. Those social-service people I been talking to seem real nice. They trying to protect you, Shanice. They got your best interest at heart, you know.”

“I’ve heard. But I’m not interested. As you always say, Granny, ‘they’re a day late and a dollar short.’ ”

“But it ain’t they fault.”

“I can’t go back to that house. And I’m not setting one foot in there ever again in life. So, if Mama wants me to come home, then she’s gonna have to find us another place to live.”

“Then you need to take that up with her.”

“I will.”

And we don’t say another word about it. I stop by the bank and cash my Social Security check and then drive till we pull into the Mirage, and I let ’em valet-park my car, and we go in and eat steak and crab and lobster, and we licking our fingers when I see some horses on a big screen in another room running around a track. Now, I know the Kentucky Derby was damn near a month ago and I know I ain’t got no business doing this, but for some reason I feel lucky, so, without even realizing what the hell I’m doing, I grab Shanice by the arm and the next thing I know we standing in this big old curved room with giant screens all around us and all kinds of races is going on.

“Granny, what are we doing in here?”

“I wanna bet on a horse.”

“Which one?”

“Hell, I don’t know,” I say, looking up. “Let me go ask somebody.”

And that’s exactly what I do. I walk over to some old black fella who look friendly with a wrinkled-up newspaper in front of him that turns out to be a racing form. “Excuse me, honey, but what racetrack is this?” I say, pointing to that screen.