“Two years ago, this very slick guy came up and sat next to me in Deedee’s Diner. Introduced himself very proper. Said his name was Eagleburg or Eaglehead or something like that. He said he supplied newborns for a few rich people who couldn’t have children of their own, all up in Harrison, New Jersey, some fancy-ass town outside New York. It sorta sounded creepy. I listened for a minute and then just moved myself to another seat at the counter. I needed money bad, but not that bad.”

Mom doesn’t even stop to catch her breath. She launches right into her next story. I serve myself a piece of lemon meringue pie.

“Some other time my friend Georgeann Shea—and I know Georgeann was usually an upright honest sort—wanted her and me to go into business together part-time. She knew a place in Maryland where you could get a certificate that legally let you use the title of doctor. She had this plan where she’d do massage therapy and I’d do prenatal and postnatal counseling. Once again, I could’ve used the cash, but I could never do something that evil. Midwives have to be honest.”

Mom is on a roll. She can whitewash her memory of the bad old days to come back now as the very best of times. And why not? Anyway, I love her stories. But I’ve got to say that four of them is just about my limit.

“Another time there was this woman showed up, same age as me, claimed to be a midwife from Maryland. Hazel was her name, a good old-fashioned name. Hazel says she’s a friend of an ob-gyn doc at Mercy Hospital in Charleston. Well, I had my doubts. After all…”

But Mom doesn’t have the chance to finish her story. Suddenly Willie’s voice comes shouting out from the living room.

“Mom, Grandma. Get in here fast!”

“Oh, shit,” mother and daughter say at the exact same time. It has to be something bad for Cabot.

But then we hear Cabot say, “This little bugger beat me in four straight Call of Duty games.”

“Are you crazy?” my mother says.

“No, really, Grandma,” Willie says. “I really beat him four times.”

“But your screaming out at me damn near killed me with fright,” she says. This is the first time since we arrived that I hear Cabot laugh.

Two hours later, I’m paying ten dollars—five each—so Willie and Cabot can hit the miniature golf course.

Chapter 43

Chapter 43

I’VE GOT TO BE honest. Is there a sweeter sight than watching Willie lining up his putt as if he were on the eighteenth hole down in Augusta? Yes, there is. That’s the sight of my crazy messed-up brother trying to help Willie with his grip.