“We had a wreck,” Tammy said. “About three years ago. We’ve had some bad luck, sure enough. Here, Harper, take this chair and I’ll get a couple from the table in the kitchen.”

Tolliver looked frustrated that he couldn’t go to get the chairs, but Tammy didn’t think anything about doing it herself. She was used to a male that was helpless. I didn’t ask any more questions about Renaldo’s condition, because I didn’t want to know. He looked bad.

“Tammy,” Tolliver said after he and our hostess had wedged themselves into the folding chairs, which barely fit in the room, “we need to talk about the day my father was here, the day Cameron was taken.”

“Oh, sure, that’s all you folks ever want to talk about,” she said, and made a face. “We’re tired of talking about that, ain’t we, Renaldo?”

“I’m not tired of it,” he said, in his oddly muffled voice. “That Cameron was a fine girl; losing her was bad.”

I felt like I’d bitten a lemon, the idea of someone like Renaldo looking at my sister made me feel so sour. But I tried to keep a pleasant expression on my face. “Can you please tell us again about that day?” I said.

Tammy shrugged. She lit a cigarette, and I tried to hold my breath as long as I could. “It’s been a long time,” she said. “I can’t believe me and Renny been together that long, can you, baby?”

“Good years,” he said, with an effort.

“Yeah, we had some good ones,” she said tolerantly. “These aren’t them, though. Well, that afternoon, your dad called, wanted to do some business with Renny. He told the cops he was going to take some stuff to the recycle with Renny, but that wasn’t the truth. We had an overstock on Oxys; your dad had some Ritalin he wanted to swap for it. Your mama, she loved her Oxys.”

“My mom loved everything,” I said.

“That is the truth, child,” Tammy said. “She loved her pills.”

“And her alcohol,” I said.

“That, too,” Tammy said. She looked at me. “But you aren’t here about your mother. She’s dead and gone.”

I shut my mouth.

“So my dad wanted to come over,” Tolliver prompted.