“We’re going home,” she said. “You can drive me out to the grave.”

“Ma,” Pammy said. “We’re not going to the grave, remember?”

“We are,” she said.

At the grave she’d say, Paul, dear, everything came out all right, Paulie flew in and Pammy held my hand and for once they laid off the smoking crap.

They were passing the Manfrey place. Once, in the Nixon years, lightning had hit the Manfrey cupola. In the morning a portion of cupola lay on the lawn. She’d walked by with Nipper. Paul Sr. did not walk Nipper. Walking Nipper being too early. Paul Sr. had been a bit of a drinker. Paul Sr. drank a bit with great sophistication. At that time, Paul Sr. was selling a small device used to stimulate tree growth. You attached it to a tree and supposedly the tree flourished. When Paul Sr. drank a bit with great sophistication he made up lovely words and sometimes bowed. This distinguished-looking gentleman would appear at your door somewhat sloshed and ask, Were your trees slaggard? Were they gublagging behind the other trees? Did they need to be prodderated? And hold up the little device. In this way they had nearly lost the house. Paul Sr. was charming. But off-putting. In the sales sense. The efficacy of his tree stimulators was nebulous. Paul Sr. had said so in his low drunk voice on the night that it had appeared most certain they would lose the house.

“Mother,” he’d said. “The efficacy of my tree stimulators is nebulous.”

“Ma,” Pammy said.

“What?” Alma snapped. “What do you want?”

“You stopped,” Pammy said.

“Don’t you think I know it?” she said. “My knees hurt. Daughter dragging me all over town.”

She had not known it. She knew it now, however. They were opposite the shop where the men used to cut pipe. Which was now a Lean&Fit. The time they nearly lost the house, Paulie had come to their bed with a cup of pennies. He was bald these days and sold ad space in the PennySaver. Pammy worked at No Animals Need Die. That was the actual name. Place smelled like hemp. On the shirts and hats for sale were cartoons of cows saying things like “Thanks for Not Slamming a Bolt Through My Head.”

And as children they’d been so bright. She remembered Paulie’s Achievement Award. One boy had wept when he didn’t get one. But Paulie’d got one. Yet they’d turned out badly. Worked dumb jobs and had never married and were always talking about their feelings.