Chapter 11

“Gertie,” said my mom, with a polite nod. “Mind if we come in?” Ma paused, waiting a beat. “I mean, I know Troy’s not here, what with him being down at the club and all.”

It was now Gertie’s turn to pause. “Troy is at work.”

Ma tilted her head. Her hair suddenly resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa. “Funny, I just saw him down at the club. Isn’t that right, Jack?” She looked my way, then back at Gertie. “This is my son, Jack, by the way.”

“Pleasure,” said I, though that might have been pushing it a bit.

She nodded. She looked pissed. She looked like she needed a drink. She let us in. Which is to say that my prayers seemed to have reached a party line. Said party was soon swimming in cheap gin and Ma officially got her ten minutes.

“So,” said Gertie, all of us drinking now, even me, because how much damage to the car could I possibly do going twenty-seven miles an hour? “What brings you here, Brenda?”

Ma turned to me. “Not me, Jack.”