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Show Blue Run/21 model with silver-plated hardware, the most expensive unit in Arkansas, maybe, because Mama's come into all that insurance money that's freed up now A ceremony's being planned with Brother Dellwood Walker in Lonoke First Baptist. Appropriate verses are being chosen. Her will has been opened, the one she's kept under the black address book on her night stand. The funeral home has been notified. My tomato plants blister under the Utah sun. The obituary has begun I say, "I'm sorry this has happened." Meg says, "Don't." "I'm sorry. We have to go home to Mama's goddamn wedding " She turns her eyes up to me-the same hazel with the yellow flecks my daughter sees me through. Meg shakes her head and gazes at me as if I've breathed fire. "You said wedding." True. In my head, the mix-up's begun. Baby Luis's shower is full swing by the time we park outside the beach pavilion, beside a rusted Toyota pickup with a bumper sticker that says War Is For People Who Don't Fish Rocky and Bet spot us right off, start looking at the ground and make a point of trying to stop having a good time for a while. Bet's mother is in from Texas-she shares the same birthday as Cap, so it's been kind of a double party that Mama's crashed. Thelma holds baby Luis on one shoulder, the green Atlantic spreading out behind her back, where some of Rocky's hippy friends who haven't gone Republican yet throw horseshoes and sip Coronas. Thelma flew half a steer out from her Texas ranch, so the air's dense with grill smoke. It's hot and party-goers shake our hands and look at the ground like they just said hello to the shadow of death, except for Lara, who draws a crowd. |