“Well, I’m going to need some help this time, unless I can figure out a way to clone myself. Because now it looks like I need to go back to New Orleans.”

She looked at him, with eyes operating at a higher level of lucidity.

Donny told her the rest of it. His explanation was more complicated than it needed to be, because he was busy trying to convince himself. When he was done, he could tell he hadn’t convinced her.

“Are you seriously going to help those fuckers?” she said, without pause.

Donny shrugged. “We need the money, Grandma. And I think it might help us keep the peace.”

“First off, you need the money. I was doing just fine, remember? Second, they don’t want peace.”

“Maybe not. But I think I can persuade them.”

“You ate one of these brownies when I was in the bathroom, didn’t you?”

He moved over to her side of the picnic table and pulled her close. She smelled like Grandma always smelled. But there was something else, almost like you could smell the cancer.

“I can’t stand to lose you, too, Grandma. You’re all the family I have left.”

She hugged him back.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “Not unless you fuck this up.”

“No pressure,” said Donny.

“Lots of pressure. This is my house, so in this case, a little pressure is good. Especially if it makes you get some help. So get me the files, and we’ll get to work. See if we can come up with the money the right way. But first you promise me you’re telling me the whole deal.”

“Totally,” he said, which was not really an answer.

“You know I can read your mind, you little shit.”

“Then you know I know what I’m doing,” he said. “Because I learned it from you.”

She stared at him, then ate the rest of the brownie, and then started telling him stories about the revolution that came before. He had heard them all before, but he still liked them. They were good stories, and they were true.

17