My son has updated Mike Mulligan. In place of a steam shovel, he’s using a computer. I couldn’t be more proud if he’d written War and Peace.

“That sounds really interesting. What does . . . George do about it?”

This causes my son to turn to face me. His expression shows he’s worried, perhaps for Jane the computer.

“I’m not sure yet,” he says. “I want there to be a happy ending, so Jane and George can still be friends. But . . . I don’t know what you do with old computers. Do you?”

I actually give this some thought, hoping that I can solve the problem. In the actual Mike Mulligan, the author has a footnote crediting the person who gave her the idea for the ending. Maybe Jacob will do me that honor as well.

“How about . . . I don’t know. Maybe Jane is perfect for teaching little kids how to use a computer? And maybe George can become a teacher and they can work together in the school.”

Jacob smiles with the power of a thousand suns. I smile even more broadly.

“I’ll make George an art teacher like Daddy, and Jane can be used to teach kids how to draw.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

And then he turns away from me to continue working.

39. ELLA BRODEN

39.

ELLA BRODEN

Saturday night at Lava looks as different from my Thursday-night gig as those performances do from open-mic night. It seems as if each type of show draws an entirely different crowd. Tuesdays are for the bohemians, the slackers, the ne’er do wells. People who can’t afford to buy tickets to see live music but are happy to listen to wannabes play. Thursdays bring out the millennials, but Saturday is for grown-ups.

The median age appears to be above my own. The patrons are, for the most part, coupled up. No doubt more than a few have hired sitters and refer to the excursion as “date night.” Some of the men are even wearing sports jackets.

For my own attire, I picked the very first outfit I ever wore to perform as Cassidy. I purchased it on eBay, and the label sewn inside the collar bears a designer’s name that I could never have afforded new, although I’m well aware that the dress could be a counterfeit. When that thought first occurred to me, it only made me cherish the garment that much more. We were kindred spirits in that way. It’s black and short—too short to be worn by anyone but Cassidy. It actually shows less skin than most of her costumes, but I think it’s the most provocative, on account of the fact that nearly the entire front and back are see-through black lace.

Gabriel’s reaction when he saw me in my Cassidy outfit was an eye roll followed by a smirk.

“No?” I asked.