“Oh well, I don’t care. I love me some Willie Nelson,” she says, and then hops down. “I’m off to get changed. See you for your victory lap.” She’s still humming when she passes Mema on her way out the door.

“Well, this place has never smelled so good in my life. What you got in there, a slice of heaven?” Mema tries to peek into the oven, but I block her.

“No. Uh-uh. You’ve got to wait for the big reveal like everybody else.”

“All right, all right, Miss Thing. But as soon as that’s out of the oven, you’ve got to get yourself down to the bedroom. Your mama sent me to tell you it’s time to shower and change.”

I stop to look at Mema. She’s like summer come early with her white capris and red-and-white checked shirt.

“You look like a picnic table.”

“Well, thanks a lot.” She fans herself with a big straw hat.

“I meant that in a good way.”

This is how I always remember her best—summer Mema, drinking tea out on the porch, frying up okra, planting bulbs in the flower beds, and chasing off the rabbits with water from the hose. On our last night every August, I’d make Mom sleep on the couch so I could fall asleep holding Mema’s hand. I never wanted to leave.

And then it hits me as I roll on back to the bedroom. I might never have to.

15 Fish Fries and Pie

All of us in Royal Oaks decide to caravan over to Bethlehem Methodist together. So at noon on the money, Mom and I pull into the church parking lot, followed by Mema and Grandpa in the Buick, and Susie, Dane, and Coralee in their old pickup. A minute later Mr. and Mrs. Akers and Bert pull in next to us.

The pie is on my lap, and I try to hold its covered dish tight and careful at the same time—like a goldfish in a bowl. I yelped at every bump on the way over until Mom said if I didn’t calm down, she’d make the pie ride up in front with her.

It’s a beauty of a day, cooler than I thought after spending all morning in the kitchen. When we get out, a breeze is blowing through the trees.

I threaten Mom with her life when I hand her the pie. I don’t trust myself to hold it while I roll into the room where the contest is being held. I remember that this room is actually a gym. There are lines painted on the floor and basketball hoops all folded up into the ceiling. Today, though, it looks more like a farmers market or a circus.