“So how do I have to bust my ass this morning?” said Murphy. “You want me to mow the grass or hoe some rows or paint the same goddamn thing over and over again?”

“Enough with the vulgarities, Murphy,” said Grandma. “I know you are new to this life, but your sarcasm is not appreciated. In fact, you may say it is quite unbecoming on a young lady like yourself. This work has a purpose, even if you’re too dense to see that yet.”

“Is the purpose to make me miserable?”

“Not nearly, darling,” said Grandma. “At least, not ultimately.” She waved her hand as if dismissing the entire topic. “But no chores, not this morning. We’re running low on supplies, hence the paltry breakfast before you. No, children, it’s time we took a trip into town.”

“Wait, really?” said Murphy. “I don’t have to do anything?”

“Just smile and be polite and wear a dress.”

“Christ almighty,” groaned Murphy.

“Watch the blasphemy,” said Grandma, pointing her spatula right at Murphy’s face.

“But you don’t even believe in Christ,” I said.

“That is quite irrelevant,” she said. “What is Christ but a misunderstanding of something true, something higher? We seek the ultimate revelation of the Spirit, and Christ is only a glimpse. As a seer, you should know this.”

Murphy rolled her eyes.

“Sorry, Grandma,” I said.

“No need to be sorry. Eat up and get dressed and comb your hair. We’re going to town, and I’d like to leave within the hour.”

And she scurried away, humming to herself.

We piled into Grandma’s gray Chevy pickup, all three of us in the front bench seat, because Grandma wouldn’t ride in anything that belonged to Horace. The truck was huge and ungainly, at least thirty years old. It bounced and squeaked and popped down the dirt road all the way to Benign. The day was bright and hot, but with the windows down it didn’t feel so bad. Grandma found a Merle Haggard song and cranked it, which made Murphy grin a little. Murphy loved the old country guys, especially Merle. Said he was the kind of gentleman who would tip his hat to you and then knock your tooth loose. It’s easy to respect a person like that, was what Murphy always said. Me, I wasn’t too into tough guys, but I liked Merle. Hell, everybody I knew liked Merle Haggard. Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson too. It would be hard to be Mom’s child and not love all those Outlaw guys. At least the not-racist ones, anyhow.

Grandma drove us past the gas station we had seen when we’d first come through. The old men were still out there in their foldout chairs, Benny and Les, and they stopped their arguing long enough to watch us pass by. The lady with the gray ponytail was there too, and she waved a hand at us, cigarette burning between her fingers.

Murphy and I waved back, and the lady smiled.