How did Wynonna memorize the lines? You thought she couldn’t read? Fair questions. However, Carol had made one extremely flawed assumption about Shakespeare.

“Shakespeare’s plays weren’t meant to be read,” I said. “They were meant to be seen.” I then did an awkward, made-up gang sign with both hands and said, “YouTube, muthafuckas.”

Carol was speechless. Finally, she removed her sunglasses and looked at me—looked at Wynonna—like she was seeing her for the first time.

Eventually, she blinked, and her mind seemed to settle into this new reality.

“I was just off to visit your mother,” she said. “Care to join me?”

Ohhhhhhh boy. Okay. This was happening. Let’s think this one through. Weigh out the pros and cons.

The pros:

• This was a valuable opportunity to build Wynonna’s relationship with her grandmother. (Which, I was sure, was in direct violation of Wynonna’s wishes. But c’mon, it was her grandma!)

• After meeting Wynonna’s dad—stalker and possessor of criminal records—I was insanely curious to meet her mom.

• The curiosity was literally killing me.

• Okay, not literally, but you know what I mean. I had to know.

The cons:

• Wynonna would literally kill me if she found out.

• Literally.

“I understand if you don’t want to—” Carol started to say.

“I’ll go,” I said. “I’d like to go.”

We drove to a cemetery.

It was at that moment—as we pulled off the main road and onto a gravel one weaving between the plots—that I realized the horrible extent to which I was violating Wynonna’s privacy.

I don’t know what I expected. Her dad had a criminal record. I guess I figured whatever her mom’s deal was, it couldn’t possibly be worse than that.

Oh boy, was I wrong.

Speaking of wrong, let me tell you about this cemetery. The perimeter fence was falling apart. The trees were knotted and haggard. The grass was choppy at best. (At worst, dead.) The tombstones themselves looked like ancient relics from a forgotten era. I was pretty sure people stopped burying their dead here after the North defeated the South.

Carol pulled over. There were no parking spaces. Only a soft fade between the gravel and grass.

“She bought her own plot here, you know,” said Carol. “She did it just to spite me.”

“To… spite you?” I said. I was trying hard to pretend I didn’t know this cemetery was absolute shit. At best. At worst, the tombstones probably formed an inverted pentagram and secretly opened up a gateway to hell.

“She bought it before she graduated high school.”

“WHAT?”

“Oh yes,” said Carol, nodding earnestly. “She was seventeen. Your age.”

“Why?!”

“She obviously thought she was being real clever. I swear, the girl went to one Marilyn Manson concert, and she was never the same.”

“Aren’t plots expensive?”