I probably made two children outside my union with Retha, one with that Pickett girl—and Retha knew about it, that I’m sure of—and the other by Clara Davis, but that was it. I was young, Lord I was. No more than twenty-five then. So young. Didn’t have the sense God give me. And Lord, you know I have begged forgiveness for my philandering, and did right by them boys when I was needed. After Sammy was born I ain’t as much as looked at another woman but Retha . . . and that’s another lie, too. But yet and still, I did, I do love Retha. Retha taught me, brought me back. She and Papa. But Papa, he didn’t take to Retha at the first.

Boy, what you want with that spindly-leg, low-butt gal for? She can’t bear you no children worth nothing. Them women over the creek . . .

But I got to, Papa.

Why?

Well . . .

You reckon you gone make her any more honest by marrying her, boy? Is that it? You ain’t the first to waste your seed. And won’t be the last. Just bring the boy here when he’s born and me and Miss Edna’ll raise him right.

And what about old man Davis? You think he and his shotgun gone take kindly to that arrangement?

Well . . .

And besides, Papa. I think . . . well, I believe I loves her.

Think? Believe? You think you in love with that little low-tail gal and cause you believe you’s in love you gone up and get married?

Yes, sir—

Well—

I do.

Uh-huh. And she gone have your youngin, is she?

Yes.

Well . . . you bring him here, like I said, when he’s born anyway, cause I don’t believe no gal from over the creek know how to raise no youngin. And you too much of a damn fool to raise anybody right. And let me tell you one thing, boy: Love ain’t what it takes to make a marriage. It takes something else.

What’s that?

You’ll find it when you need it.

Papa?

What?

Why you think it’s gone be a boy?

Cause I said so, that’s why. You damn fool.