Chapters (65)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Part Two
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Part Three
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- About the Publisher
“The hell?” Deena sounded suspicious. She came back down the steps and started toward the truck. “You’re not moving in, are ya?” She winked. She’d taken me in one summer when I had to get away from Mom and Dad. I’d stolen a hundred bucks from the cookie jar where our mother hid her stash. Deena’d given me a room and fed me, while I helped out with the chickens and dogs. Did repairs and shit.
“I was gonna tell you about that,” I said, looking at the ground.
“Holy SHIT,” she said as she pressed her forehead against the tinted backseat window to see what I had. “So this is what you called me about?”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus, Digger.” She opened the door and unbuckled the seat belt. “You were gonna leave him out here? Is it a him or a her?”
“Her. And I was gonna come and get her. I wanted to tell you first.”
“Tell me what?” Deena said as she lifted the car carrier out of the truck. “Never mind. I don’t wanna know. Let’s just get her inside.”
I picked up the bag of supplies, closed the truck door, and followed up the steps. “You got anything to eat?”
Deena stopped outside the front door and sighed. “Yeah,” she said. “Just get inside, and don’t say nothing stupid to Mrs. Z.”
We trudged inside and stomped off our boots. Deena swooped the baby carrier straight into the kitchen, so Mrs. Z might not notice.
“Hello, Dennis.” Mrs. Z had been waiting in the living room. She reached her arm out and wiggled her hand in a spastic wave, as if she could reach me from her comfy chair, twenty feet away.
“How are you, Mrs. Z?” I smiled and bent my head down.
“I’m alive, Dennis.” She closed her eyes for dramatic effect.
“Aww, Mrs. Z,” I said, keeping a side-eye on Deena down the hall. She’d set the baby carrier on the kitchen table.
“My arthritis is acting up,” said Mrs. Z. “But I’m still going.”
“Like the Energizer Bunny, right?” Deena walked into the living room and stood behind Mrs. Z, patting her shoulders.
The baby fussed, then cranked up into a full cry.
“Oh my!” Mrs. Z clapped her hands. “A baby! Yours, Digger?”
“Surprise,” said Deena, going to the kitchen and taking the baby out of the carrier, while Mrs. Z chirped like a crazy bird.