Oh.

That was an incredibly good idea. Clyde and I moseyed around the house most of Sunday. Moseying as in searching for more cubbyholes filled with drugs. It was a weird thing to do, but I loved having Clyde around and it was kind of a bonding moment. Like we were repeating history, in this together when it came to dealing with Mom. And Clyde and I had been the ones to deal with her most of my life. It was kind of sad, but it was familiar, and right now, familiar felt good.

We hadn’t found any more drugs, thank the Good Lord for that, and he’d ended up running to the store before it got dark and coming back with the goods to make tacos.

Tacos.

As Clyde had put the hamburger meat on the counter and found a frying pan in the cabinets, I stared at him from the doorway to the kitchen, my lips trembling and my hands pressed together against my chest.

Clyde had been married once. I barely remembered Nettie, his wife, because she had passed away unexpectedly from a brain aneurism when I was six years old and that had been many years ago. At least fifteen years and Clyde had never remarried. I wasn’t even sure if he dated. He’d loved Nettie and some nights, when I’d lived here before, he’d talk about her.

I didn’t think he’d ever gotten over her loss.

But one of the things I remembered him talking about was his and Nettie’s Sunday night ritual—making tacos from scratch. Good tacos. Red and green peppers, sautéed with onions, and smothered in melted cheese and shredded lettuce.

It had also become a Sunday night ritual for Clyde and me, and sometimes when Mom was around and had her head on straight, she’d take part.

I smiled as I watched him unload the bags. This was so familiar, and I had missed this. Missed having someone who felt like family even though they weren’t blood.

In that moment, something came unhinged in my chest. I didn’t get it, but suddenly I was uncomfortable. Not with what was happening now, but what had been happening the last couple of years.

Tears burned the back of my eyes. I didn’t know why. It was dumb. I was back to everything being dumb.

Clyde pulled out a head of lettuce. “You know what to do, baby girl, so get your ass over here and start chopping.”

I dragged myself over to the counter, swallowing back tears. I will not cry. I will not lose control. My cheeks were damp.

“I didn’t pick up that Mexican cheese blend. We are gonna do this from . . . Aw, baby girl.” Clyde put down the block of cheese and twisted his big body toward me. “What are those tears for?” he asked.

Lifting my shoulder, I wiped at my cheeks as I whispered, “I don’t know.”

“Is it your mother?” Those large hands were gentle against my face, his fingers calloused from years of work as they chased after the tears. “Or is it the boys? Kevin and Tommy?”