“Got it done down at Vivacious.”

“It looks fabulous, honey.”

“Thank you, Vy. Well, I’ll head on home, but you call if you need anything. And let me know when you’re up for bridge.”

“I will. And you’re feeling okay?”

“Depending on what day it is. Diabetes can play havoc with you. But I’m thankful to the Almighty just to be here.”

“Join the club. See you later, sweetie.”

She smiles and waves, turns, and leaves the porch. Loretta is so frail and pale. Hard to believe she lives in Las Vegas. She don’t have no family to speak of, but, from the looks of things, I guess that would be me.

“Mama, wake up,” Janelle is saying. But that’s impossible, ’cause I ain’t sleep. But my body is being shook, and I realize my eyes is closed, been closed for a few minutes, I guess. The mail I was opening laying next to me look like a fan of white envelopes except for that brown one from the IRS threatening for the last time to take this house. They can have this raggedy hole. I ain’t losing no more sleep over this dump. Let Cecil worry about it. Let him figure it out.

“Granny, how are you feeling?”

“Shanice?”

I try to sit up, and when I do, she helps me, while Janelle stands at the foot of the bed putting on rubber gloves. “When did y’all get here? Is Lewis back yet?”

“No, thank the Lord. We got here about fifteen minutes ago, Mama. You were out like a light, and we wanted you to rest, but your nosy granddaughter here insisted on sitting next to you until you woke up. Did she wake you?”

“No I didn’t,” Shanice snaps.

“You better watch the tone of your voice when you talking to your mama, girl.”

“Sorry, Granny. Sorry, Ma.”

“So are you feeling close to normal yet, Ma?”

“Fair to middlin’, but I’m alive, so I can’t do too much complaining. How about you? I know you tired. Y’all drove all the way here?”

“We sure did. It was a nice drive. We needed the time together.”

I look at Shanice. Her eyes ain’t got no glaze, like she trying not to show no feelings one way or the other. She’s good at it, too. Then I glance up at Janelle, whose eyes is doing just the opposite: straining to hold back something. Not tears. Something way past that. What in Lord’s name could it be? I hope it ain’t what I think it is. She’ll tell it when she wants to. And I’ll wait. “You putting on weight?” I ask Janelle.

“A couple of pounds, maybe.”

“I thought you liked being a anorexic,” I say with a smirk.

“I don’t like being fat,” she says.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I dreamt about fish last night.”

“And?”

“It usually means somebody’s pregnant. How you feel about that?”

“Old wives’ tales haven’t stood the test of time, Ma, and you know it.”