I’m giving him a hard time, but Lord knows I’ve been there. I still like to keep him on his toes. He knows Saturday mornings are for fishing, which is why he sleeps over here on Friday nights. You think he’d learn and lay off the sauce, but his head is as hard as mine.

He nearly falls off the sofa and then trudges up the stairs, waving me off the entire way. Not even five minutes pass before I hear the clanging of pans in the kitchen. I follow the noise and find Granny and Mom cracking eggs and mixing pancake batter.

“Mom, what are you doing here this morning?”

They both greet me with cheek kisses and pinches as soon as I hit the doorway.

“Sarge didn’t have a great night. Granny and I had to tag team it,” Mom says in explanation, and that’s all she has to say.

The evenings are especially hard on Sarge. He seems to get even more confused than usual, and he’s much more agitated. It takes its toll on Granny, and sometimes two pairs of eyes help keep him out of trouble.

“Why didn’t y’all call me? I would have come over and helped.”

My grandmother lovingly slaps my cheek. “We know that, sweet boy, but your mom and I had it covered.”

Our conversation is cut short when Will joins us, and, of course, the kisses and pinches resume. Will winces with every high-pitched squeal, and I have to laugh. Maybe I’ll take it easy on him for the rest of the morning … but what would be the fun in that?

Breakfast commences with no sign of Sarge. When I ask about it, Mom explains he was up until past midnight, so he’ll probably sleep well into the morning. Even so, Mom and Granny are still up with the chickens, and I know they must be exhausted. Looking at them, you’d never know, and it makes me wonder how many times I’ve been left in the dark.

“Cain, why haven’t you invited your sweet little friend over for dinner again? She was such a darling. How has she been?” Granny leans in and smiles hopefully, and I hate to be the one to burst her bubble.

I slowly finish chewing my bite, buying a little extra time. “Um, I’m not sure. We don’t talk anymore.”

She watches me thoughtfully and waits for an explanation. I don’t have one, so I keep quiet. The truth is, it’s been weeks since I’ve spoken to Celia. I’ve kept my distance, just like I said I would. I’ve avoided her at every turn, staying away from Adam’s house, the clinic, or wherever I know she will be. I miss the hell out of her. But I don’t share that with Grams.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I look away and turn my attention to my cousin, hoping to end this line of questioning. “Will, where did you go last night? I don’t see your truck in the driveway—did you have to hitch a ride home?”

Will flings me the stink eye, and I can’t blame him. Oh well, he’ll get over it. The little fucker needs to learn how to take one for the team. I’m merely being a stellar cousin, teaching him the important lessons in life. He’ll thank me one day.

“Actually, I saw Celia last week, and she said to tell you hello, Granny,” Mom chimes in, bringing the topic back to the forefront and making my jaw hit the floor.

I drop my fork on my plate and turn my attention to Mom. “What do you mean you saw her last week? Where?”

What the hell?

Mom stabs her pancakes with her fork, takes a bite, and chews slowly, innocently. Yeah, I’m not buying it.

“She stopped by the house to visit with Moe and me. Actually, we have teatime at least once a week. She’s such a dear girl.” Mom flips her gaze to Granny who nods in agreement.

I cross my arms, lean back in my chair, and take a good look at the two Judases. I was under the false assumption that blood was thicker than water. “Well, isn’t that just cozy. Did you swap recipes, paint each other’s toenails, or was it another laugh fest at the expense of my rooster?”

Will chokes on his orange juice, Granny gasps and clutches her chest, and Mom slams a hand on the table, making the dishes rattle.

“Well, I never! Cain Bennett, I did not raise you to speak about private parts over a perfectly pleasant breakfast.” Mom’s voice hits a loud whisper—you know that thing moms do when they want to holler, but act too dignified to actually let it rip. It’s eerily similar to a kid’s whisper, in that it’s not a whisper at all.

“I’m not the one who started the private part talk, am I, Mom? You and Mo did that. And now that Celia and me aren’t talkin’ and she’s spending time at the house, there’s no telling what you two are gonna let fly. You probably already told her about the lingerie section of the J.C. Penney catalog I had stashed under my bed.” I lean forward in my chair and groan when her lip twitches at my comment. “I don’t like her going over there.”

My words come out like a decree, but I don’t get the response I’m hoping for. Mom and Granny scoff in unison, and Will has become extremely interested in the plate in front of him.

“Just because you’re still grazing around town, spitting out cud willy-nilly doesn’t mean your momma has to follow your lead. You brought that sweet girl over here. You introduced her to us. If they’ve forged a friendship, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to deal with it,” Granny states matter-of-factly.

“I’m not grazing, Granny,” I say, shaking my head. I stand up and put my dishes in the sink. I turn and walk out of the kitchen, stopping for a moment at the doorway. “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe Celia’s the cow and I’m the cud?”

I don’t wait for their response. I walk to the utility room and gather my tackle box and fishing pole. I load up the truck and wait for Will. I look up when I hear the screen door creak, and frown when I see Mom walking my way. She pulls down the tailgate of my truck and hoists herself up to sit. Her legs dangle carelessly as she leans back on her hands. She smiles at me, and her eyes soften to the point of melting.

“I love you, son.”

I huff and stare at the ground, cursing myself for not being able to stay mad at her for a full ten minutes. It’s been that way all my life.

“I love you, too.”

We sit in silence for a bit, and the warm Louisiana wind whips around us, feeling more like a heater than a breeze.

“There’s a fire in that girl. I see it plain as day, although she tries to hide it. We’re like-minded—she and I. It’s like looking into the mirror. There’s a war inside her heart, and you need to let her fight it.” Mom loops her arm with mine and scoots me closer to her. I lean against the tailgate, and she rests her head on my shoulder.

“How is she?”

I know the answer may burn me, but I can’t stop myself from asking. What if she’s happy without me? How will I feel if my absence hasn’t fazed her at all? It kills me to think our time together may not mean as much to her as it did to me. I just don’t believe it. What’s left may be in shambles, but it was genuine … and reciprocated. There was nothing plastic about our relationship. It was, however, painfully temporary.

“Hmm … she’s asking the same thing about you. She even checked in on Biz,” she giggles, rolling her eyes. “That girl has the same lost look in her eyes that I see in yours.”

A humorless laugh escapes me, and she squeezes my arm. “This is the way she wants it. She basically threw me out of her house. She uninvited me to her life. Did she explain what happened? Because I still don’t get it.”

“She didn’t … and if she did, I wouldn’t tell you,” she says softly, sounding more like an apology than a statement. “And she’s welcome at our home any time.”

“Nice.”

“Son, you and I are so blessed. We’re surrounded by people who love us and support us. Not everyone gets that, and, even if they do, many people lose it way too early in their lives. I’m not sure which category Celia fits in, but I can assure you, there’s emptiness there. I will not turn her away. You shouldn’t want me to.”