“Sorry,” he said. “That door sticks. Come sit and catch the last of the sunset. The bugs aren’t bad tonight.”

I poured myself a large glass of wine. “Cheers,” I said, clinking his Coors Light can. “This is beautiful.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice view. Quiet tonight. Most people are away this weekend.”

“Any special reason?” I tried to remember if there was a race at Talladega or other state holiday.

“No, I had all the neighbors arrested so we’d have the place to ourselves.”

“I’m still catching onto your police humor,” I replied.

He chuckled. “Yeah, humor. There really is a roadblock near here tonight. It’s probably slowing folks down a bit.”

“You think of everything, don’t you?”

“I try. Have you decided whether you’re staying until morning? I need to know if I can open three or four more beers.” He raised his beer can, swishing it from side to side.

“I guess so, as long as I have my own room. Halle has plenty of food and water.”

“Halle?”

“My cat’s name is Halle Berry.”

“How cute. I’m thinking Kitty O’Shea would consider her a tasty appetizer.”

“I forgot about your bulldog. I’m a cat person.”

“And I am not, but I am cat tolerant when necessary. By the way, we need to leave here around ten tomorrow morning. Would you like to go mini-golfing in Tuscaloosa?”

I decided not to feign enthusiasm for mini-golf. “No, thank you. I can go home and write. I’m in the middle of a chapter.”

“You’re a writer? I thought you were a professional angel to old people.”

“That’s my day job, and I’ll need to keep it. I’m writing a book with little hope of publication.”

“I see. What’s it about?”

I considered my wine glass for a minute before answering, “The life of a wonderful woman named Violet. She was kind of an adoptive grandmother to me. The only grandmother I’ve ever known.”

“Your parents live in Birmingham, right?”

“My parents passed away a few years ago. It’s just me. No brothers or sisters.” I gulped wine, stressed as always by any discussion of my childhood.

“I’m sorry. They must have been very young.”

“Actually, they had me late in life.” My practiced line. Not, they adopted me after I was passed around by three foster families.

“Well, I’m sure they were wonderful people. I want you to meet my folks soon. I think you’d like them.”

“I’m sure I would. Are you mini-golfing alone tomorrow?”

“No, I had a call from my son Josh earlier. He and his younger brother are mini-golf enthusiasts. Want to see a picture?” He held out his phone, revealing two blonde, smiling little boys. “Josh is eight and Jeremy is seven.”

“They’re adorable,” I said. “It must be hard, being away from them.”