It would have been more appropriate, Paul thought, to emerge into the late, hot dawn stricken with the remnants of a supernatural vision of his father in some setting heavy with gilded history. To listen to advice and wisdom from a spirit undeterred by the laws of physics or the guidelines of the afterlife. It didn\u2019t matter to him whether those words and those images came from his subconscious or the literal beyond. They would have been much more of a comfort than the hard-on in his lap and the mental vertigo produced by a dream of being sexually enjoined in some preposterous position with a yelping caricature of Maureen Dowd.<\/p>\n
My libido is developing a left-wing bias<\/em>, he thought. He struggled to stand up straight and pull off the trousers he had been wearing last night around his perseverant protuberance. He was about to step into the shower and make amends when the doorbell rang.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cSugar,\u201d he said. He clumsily pulled on his monogrammed terry-cloth robe which, though he wore it infrequently, always brought back memories of Christmas 1986. He stomped across the floor towards the front door, futilely willing his blood to flow backwards and recede and deliver him back to a stance of propriety. As it was, he had to stand behind the door after unbolting it, turned away like a batter close on the plate hiding his grip.<\/p>\n \u201cGood morning, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHello, officer.\u201d Paul tried to return eye contact with the young man dressed in the black uniform and wraparound shades in as generic a way as possible and failed.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is 801 Harmony?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, sir.\u201d Judging by the officer\u2019s pursed lips and the way his thumbs stuck like they were sewn into his waistband, Paul thought him to be about twenty-three years old. They lose that after about a year<\/em>, he could hear his father say. But they\u2019re still no good on the stand until they get that dog-eared, dusty on the shelf look. For white folks, anyway.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cMr. Hinckley?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s right.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThis is a courtesy extended by me, Officer Bill Renfro, and is not to be construed as a direct avoidance of enforcement or protocol by the New Orleans Police Department.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m dropping off your daughter, sir.<\/p>\n \u201cMy who?\u201d Paul looked over the officer\u2019s epaulets and into the squad car. His niece, his sister Noel\u2019s youngest daughter sat in the backseat with her face pressed against the tinted window making a masquerade face. \u201cOh, Kendra. Sure, sure. Daughter, yeah.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWould you like to hear the applicable yet unpressed charges, Mr. Hinckley?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDidn\u2019t you play football for De La Salle?\u201d<\/p>\n The cop smiled and scratched his nose. \u201cYessir, that\u2019s right.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRemind me, offense or defense. Then I\u2019ll have it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOffense.\u201d<\/p>\n Paul squinted and chanted, \u201cRenfro, Renfro\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n In the car Kendra mouthed dramatically, Come on!<\/em><\/p>\n <\/em>\u201cFullback!\u201d Paul yelled. \u201cThat\u2019s right. I saw you make a block on a linebacker, for Jarvis Jefferson then outrun him downfield to take out a cornerback. Jefferson made 88 yards on that play.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou were there for that game?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNewman homecoming. You guys ate us alive. What happened here? You didn\u2019t get into a program?\u201d<\/p>\n The cop shook off a few pounds of officiousness. \u201cI spent senior year in Texas because of the storm at some peckerwood public school. Got onto the team but they were all these big country boys. I didn\u2019t step into the lights all season.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, that\u2019s a real shame. I suppose, though, you should, ah\u2026\u201d Paul nodded towards the street.<\/p>\n \u201cRight. I don\u2019t want to scare you, Mr. Hinckley, but your daughter isn\u2019t ten years younger than I am, but she\u2019s wilder than any girl I ever met on the prep circuit. We caught her along with a group of other kids at a would-be throw-down near Children\u2019s Hospital. Had to run a few of them in for possession. All we took from Kendra was a fake ID, but she came this close to getting run in for drunk and disorderly. I have a partner, though, who says he knows the family. So nothing official, but another few epithets and firm fingers poked in my chest and I\u2019d have felt justified in ignoring the old-timer and letting the cards fall where they may. \u2018Hinckley\u2019 isn\u2019t exactly on the secret list of think-twice family names. At least, not for us new bucks.\u201d<\/p>\n Paul opened the door a little wider; his body had attuned to the sensitive priorities of his mind now. \u201cI\u2019m not sure how to respond to that in a respectful manner,\u201d he said. \u201cBut, but, but. I think I know why she\u2019s acting out. There\u2019s been a death in the family. Her grandfather.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry to hear that, sir. Well, there\u2019s no paperwork or anything. Just\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJames Hinckley.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat was\u2014the grandfather?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou haven\u2019t heard of him, I take it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAsk your district superintendent. My father was always fair to cops.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sure he was, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe was a lawyer, I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cReally, sir, I\u2019m at the end of my shift.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBeing fair to cops, that wasn\u2019t exactly easy, you know. Back in the seventies, especially.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSir, your daughter is in handcuffs, and I still have the keys. This whole situation can shift gears if we need it to.\u201d<\/p>\n Paul offset his jaw and squinted. \u201cJarvis Jefferson. He\u2019s a starter for Florida now, isn\u2019t he?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRespectfully, sir, I\u2019m sensing that your daughter\u2019s reckless disregard for police officers is the raw form that will eventually coalesce into something like your disingenuous contempt. Just because I didn\u2019t go to college you shouldn\u2019t assume that I haven\u2019t capitalized on my private school education. I\u2019m pulling in 60 a year with bonuses when most people my age are either moving back in with their parents or bound to servitude by six-figure student loans.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s a crap shoot, Renfro.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSir?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBy which I mean that even in the Second District you could still get your head blown off by some crack head no matter how smart you are.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMr. Hinckley, I\u2019m going to ask you to step out here onto the porch.\u201d<\/p>\n Paul\u2019s mind spun like tires trying to find traction. The image of Maureen Dowd\u2019s erect, liberal nipples strafed his consciousness and his tenuous flaccidity reacted to the unwelcome stimulus. He let go of the door jamb and thrust his hands into the patch pockets in the front of his robe.<\/p>\n \u201cLook, let\u2019s just say what\u2019s done is done. I have to make some phone calls. My father\u2019s body hasn\u2019t even been embalmed yet.\u201d<\/p>\n Officer Renfro reassumed his initial position and ruminated.<\/p>\n \u201cThere is no secret list of think-twice names.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI understand, officer.\u201d<\/p>\n Kendra, once emancipated from the patrol car and uncuffed, hopped up the stairs like an eager puppy. It was only once she was inside and the door was shut behind her that she regained control of her teenage hostility. \u201cThat fucker<\/em>,\u201d she declared. \u201cThat was my good<\/em> ID. It had a fucking hologram<\/em> for shit\u2019s sake.\u201d She sat on the arm of his favorite chair and dropped her purse onto it. Her long straight brown hair had been taken up in curls for the previous night and the humidity had nearly finished unwinding them all. She unclasped a few barrettes and threw them into her purse. She had a face that was just a little too small for the size of her thick torso and pursed belly. However, Kendra\u2019s long, full legs seemed to have grown under their own willpower to keep her from being the short, bulky girl that always ends up on the far end of group photographs. Paul liked his niece, but he would\u2019ve liked most teenagers if they talked as openly with him in their blocky, unpunctuated dialect as she did. She looked tired and upset. Her bravado was running on brusque fumes. Still, he felt a domestic pressure to start up a stern inquiry about the trouble then balance that with a denouement of reassuring advice.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s going on here? Kendra, come on. Trust me, my brothers and I enjoyed parties when we were in high school too, but it\u2019s a weeknight. And drugs<\/em>? And you lied to that policeman. Why didn\u2019t you have him take you home?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBecause he would\u2019ve thought I was playing him when no one came to answer the door. Rosehannah won\u2019t be in until eleven. Don\u2019t worry about it nothing happened. Plus, you guys didn\u2019t party: you drank half beer and sat on the levee. And double plus, it\u2019s the fucking middle of summer. There are no weeknights.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhen\u2019s your mother coming into town?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s still got another three months, Uncle Paulie. Don\u2019t you remember? Trans-national brokerage deals don\u2019t just happen overnight. Even in Shanghai. Can I get on your laptop? I have to read what the other girls Twittered from jail.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, this is ridiculous. You\u2019d think they could spare her for a short-term, family-leave, I don\u2019t know what. I thought the Chinese enjoyed a spiritual respect for their ancestors.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you high<\/em>? What are you talking about?\u201d<\/p>\n Paul flapped his robe by the pockets. \u201cFor the funeral<\/em>, Kendra.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat the fuck! Who fucking died Uncle Paulie? Oh my god, was it Moira? Did great auntie Edna mix up her pills? Was there an accident? Did Uncle Joseph fall again? Oh my god, not the twins. Was it the twins?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cKendra, calm down. I didn\u2019t mean to\u2014you didn\u2019t hear. Sheesh, listen\u2026\u201d Paul came across the room and sat on the other arm of the chair and tried to reach across to put his arm around her shoulder. This put him off balance, so he slid his hand down her arm instead and leaned in as if he was trying to look into her purse. \u201cCalm down. You\u2019re having what they call a serious grief issue.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI think it\u2019s a new term in clinical\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat I\u2019m about to have is a breakdown if you don\u2019t just tell me who died!\u201d<\/p>\n Paul sighed and closed his eyes. \u201cYour grandfather. Pappy died.\u201d<\/p>\n Kendra stood up. \u201cDon\u2019t scare me like that!\u201d<\/p>\n Paul shook his head once and whispered, \u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI thought something terrible had happened.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThis is terrible!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMom has been squawking at me that\u201d\u2014she wagged her head back and forth and threw up her hands\u2014\u201c\u2018this is going to be the year that Pappy dies, so be nice to him!\u2019 for, like, six years. I mean, he\u2019s like 95 and he still works full-time and he had all those surgeries and shit.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe was 89, all right? That\u2019s not that old. And Noel, er, your mother shouldn\u2019t have said that. Not even this year.\u201d<\/p>\n Kendra attempted to walk past him into his small study in the next room. \u201cWhatever. Did you change your password on the computer or is it still \u2018SandyKoufax11?\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n Paul bounced off of the chair and blocked her path. \u201cDon\u2019t you dare! Show a little respect, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPaulie, I need to know what happened! Oh, shit, and I forgot I have to de-friend Todd Melancon.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRight now our whole clan is preparing for this funeral.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat am I supposed to do? Fucking pick out a coffin?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sure somebody needs your help. I\u2019m taking you over to Joseph\u2019s and you can babysit the kids.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cChrist, Uncle Paulie, I haven\u2019t slept.\u201d<\/p>\n There were two sharp taps at the front door, Liza\u2019s signature demand upon arrival. Paul jerked then regained his footing.<\/p>\n \u201cAunt Liza\u2019s here!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t call her that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou guy\u2019s have been together for, like, fifteen years. Why\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s only been ten. Can\u2019t you keep numbers in your head? Or is that some side effect of ecstasy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t do<\/em> E anymore, Uncle Paulie. Not since those senior girls died. What are you and Aunt Liza doing?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t call<\/em> her that!\u201d He leaned in and held her arm. \u201cI\u2019ll make you a deal. You can shower and take a nap here, but when we get back from Commander\u2019s I\u2019m taking you straight over to Joe\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re going to Commander\u2019s? Hell yeah. I\u2019m coming with you.\u201d<\/p>\n The two taps hit again.<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s no time for us to both get ready.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, come on Uncle Paulie, please. I haven\u2019t been there in forever. I\u2019ll take a whore\u2019s bath and be ready in five minutes.\u201d She outmaneuvered him, and Paul watched her run down his hallway and into the bathroom, her stomping legs reverberating across the wood floors. He turned around again when he heard the front door open. Liza stormed in wearing a periwinkle cotton dress and oversized sunglasses. Her limbs were already lightly shined with sweat.<\/p>\n \u201cPaul, you know I don\u2019t like to let myself in. What\u2019s all that racket?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cKendra.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy the hell aren\u2019t you ready?\u201d<\/p>\n Paul shrugged and clowned, \u201cKendra!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I\u2019m going then.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJust wait a minute, Liza. We won\u2019t be that long.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI already called Mimi and Elaine. They\u2019re coming, too. And I\u2019m not making the maitre\u2019d switch us all around to a bigger table so that little hellion can dominate our brunch.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat is she supposed to do then, just walk all the way home? In this heat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRosehannah can pick her up.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUh-uh. Then I have to leave her a spare key to lock up and then I\u2019ll forget about it and that whole debacle. C\u2019mon, the kid just found out her grandfather is dead. She needs a little cheering up.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen take her to the damned Camellia Grill and let her watch the monkeys. I\u2019ll be in the car, and I\u2019ll be leaving in five minutes. You decide what you want for breakfast.\u201d<\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n Paul watched Kendra shift from one leg to another and cycle her thumbs rapidly over her cell phone\u2019s keypad the whole time they waited in line at the Camellia Grill. The line was just barely out the door when they got there, but they made it through the tiny breezeway and to two padded vinyl stools at the dominant chromed counter of the diner soon enough. It was loud and bright inside, sunlight coming in from the large front windows and reflecting off of every stainless steel appliance and coffee pot. A fast-moving troupe of black cooks and waiters wearing pre-tied bowties kept the room sizzling, clinking, and sliding. They spoke in a dialect of English Paul couldn\u2019t understand and threw their lingo back and forth between them like an invisible ball over the customers\u2019 heads. He could still recognized that it worked: the orders came out simultaneously, the speedy one-liners distracted from a large arm swiping a rag over spilled chocolate milk, and all the people at the counter plunged forks into pancakes and chewed quickly, trying to match the tempo.<\/p>\n Kendra tore apart a cheeseburger and fried egg while Paul swallowed a western omelet and four pieces of white toast without giving his stomach any warning that it should prepare. While he ate and stared at a large mound of hash browns cooking through, he cycled through each of the five times he\u2019d eaten here. Three times after pulling late-night dates out of bars with Tommy Dietz, a bachelor party in 1982, and once, uncharacteristically, alone.<\/p>\n \u201cI used to drive a Buick Bonneville,\u201d he said to Kendra while still watching the smoking pile of slivered potatoes.<\/p>\n \u201cAunt Liza\u2019s such a bitch.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, she can be exclusive sometimes. But, you know, that\u2019s what those people are like.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat people?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLandowners, I guess. I don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUncle Paulie, you need some rest.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI got an idea. We\u2019ll jump the gun on Liza. I may catch hell for it later, but who cares, right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s up.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ll go see Mam-mam.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAwesome. Mam-mam is so crazy it\u2019s cool. Last time I went to see her she gave me a diamond watch.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t worry. I never take it out anywhere. Oh, but don\u2019t tell Mom, okay? She\u2019d slice my clit off.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJeesum! Keep it down!\u201d<\/p>\n Paul drove along the levee towards the turn in the river then eased around a bumpy corner onto Magazine Street. Kendra was trying out new hip-hop songs for cell phone\u2019s ringer. As they passed over the pothole-ridden stretch between the zoo and Audubon park, Paul stared solemnly at the nearby fairways and the clubhouse off in the distance. \u201cThat was it, right over there,\u201d he said. \u201cYour granddad and I were playing golf right back there when he collapsed.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry I flipped out earlier. I get so used to thinking of Pappy being this old head guy at the end of the family table like a CEO or something. I forgot that he was your dad, too.\u201d<\/p>\n Kendra flicked to a downtempo, chimey song spun out by a zig-zagging, ebonic voice. Paul felt a simultaneous spur of emotion and confusion as to why teenagers from good, prominent households flaunted their enjoyment of ghetto rap. He felt like it was his burden to bear, and not hers, so they drove through a few stoplights in silence before he could come up with a joke.<\/p>\n \u201cSo how about that checkout girl back there at Camellia?\u201d he asked. \u201cKind of like Beyonce does a shopping spree at Wal-mart, right?\u201d<\/p>\n Kendra rolled her eyes. \u201cThat\u2019s not very nice, Uncle Paulie.\u201d<\/p>\n Inside the gates of Poydras Home, Paul and Kendra signed their names and waited for Mrs. James Douglas Hinckley to be brought out to them. Paul liked to avoid going back to the room directly since his face seemed to be so transferable to other residents\u2019 memories and their cold, clutching hands never responded to polite denials. But now, also, he felt an odd sense of pride seeing his mother pushed in a wheelchair down the straight center of the hallway by a man dressed in pale-colored scrubs. She sat regally in the chair with a shiny black fur coat hiding her bony, pajama-clad frame. Her hands draped over the handles with all four fingers facing forwards, each bound with at least one jeweled ring. Paul remembered the fight he\u2019d had with his two brothers about having all the rings resized at Adler\u2019s to fit around her shrinking flesh. His mother\u2019s thin hair was permed as expertly as it could be and dyed with a thick, mannerly brown hue.<\/p>\n \u201cMy son will take over from here, boy<\/em>. He knows I don\u2019t like to ride so slowly.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMam-mam!\u201d Kendra clicked her heels. \u201cDo you remember me?\u201d<\/p>\n The old woman looked up at her. The articles on the left side of her face had shifted down a longitude and remained immobile but did not hinder her old uptown accent. \u201cDon\u2019t tell me we\u2019ve bred another tramp. Where\u2019s the rest of your dress?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMa, come on. This is Kendra. Noel\u2019s youngest. But just so you know, I don\u2019t really approve of her attire either. But we had little time to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFor God\u2019s sake, can we take this conversation outdoors?\u201d<\/p>\n Paul took the handles of the wheelchair and looked down through the thin hoops of his mothers hair to her white scalp. Outside they began a slow trip on the sidewalk that bordered a large, grassy yard. On the other side of a wrought-iron fence people walked back and forth on Magazine Street, young and middle-aged alike headed out to a boutique or a bank, heedless of the old guard parading in the square.<\/p>\n \u201cMa, I\u2019m worried you\u2019ll overheat with that coat.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI actually wish I had another one to put over this, son. I\u2019m freezing inside.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJust let me know, Ma.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s that thief Morial up to these days?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s been out of office for years now,\u201d Paul said. \u201cBut we voted out a thief for a showboat.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s all of them. Even the nigras<\/em> here.\u201d She whispered the old code-word. \u201cI think they\u2019re stealing from me at night.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe just catalogued your possessions last month for the assessment. Nothing\u2019s ever gone missing since you\u2019ve been here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s right. Paul came in with a clerk.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMa, I<\/em> came in. I\u2019m Paul.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPaul doesn\u2019t have any children.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThis is Noel\u2019s daughter. I brought her along. Noel\u2019s in China, remember?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cChina! She\u2019ll get fat on chop suey and duckling.\u201d<\/p>\n Paul guided his mother under the shade of an oak tree in an ivy-covered corner then knelt down. Kendra came in close, understanding, and reached out to put her hands on her grandmother\u2019s forearm. She pressed through a few more inches of fur than she expected to before grasping her limb.<\/p>\n \u201cMa, I\u2019ve got some news.\u201d<\/p>\n The old woman erupted, clasping her hands together and beating her chest. \u201cOh, my God! Oh, my Jesus! Not another hurricane! I lit all of those candles<\/em>!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMa, ma. Calm down. No, no, no. We\u2019re all right. We\u2019re okay. This is family news.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t scare me like that, Joe!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s Paul<\/em>, Ma. Look at my face.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHoly shit!\u201d Kendra whispered. \u201cShe\u2019s off the gingko. She\u2019s lost it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat can\u2019t be right. Paul never comes to visit. Not as often as you do, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cListen to me, Ma. I\u2019m Paul, and I\u2019m the one handling this whole fiasco with any sense of reverence and aplomb. That\u2019s why I came to you first.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s happened?\u201d<\/p>\n Paul took a deep breath. In a small portion of his heart, he knew that what he was about to say would make his mother assume the posture of a monarch receiving news that a far-off rival had finally been subjugated, and he clenched himself physically for that reaction and hoped he could guide her into the necessary pattern of denial and anger and whatever came after that.<\/p>\n \u201cPop\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJames?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt was his heart.\u201d<\/p>\n His mother patted her own lap. \u201cIt\u2019s fair. It\u2019s fair. That heart poisoned us and then it turned on him.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMa, come on.\u201d Paul looked up at Kendra across the wheelchair. Her cheeks were tilting towards pink and her eyes were already red, irritated by her first tears.<\/p>\n \u201cI suppose,\u201d the matriarch said, jutting her chin against the daylight, \u201cI\u2019ll be available for the funeral. But after that, I want to be taken to the house. I want to tour it again. I\u2019ve got plans for certain rooms. It\u2019ll be good to be back.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMa, you know you\u2019ve got to stay here. They can\u2019t watch over you at the house like they can here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs that so.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut don\u2019t worry, anything you want done, we can do. I\u2019ll look after the house.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t understand. I can\u2019t stand it, sitting in here. There\u2019s no more streetcar on Magazine. Only cars and people walking now. People with items in their ears that play music so they can ignore everyone else. That\u2019s not what we used to do. I want to go out on Saint Charles and get picked up. I want to go all the way to the lake on a streetcar, the way we used to. It takes half a day. And then you picnic, and then you swim. And the young men will all toss themselves around in front of me. I\u2019m too old for their charms, now, but I still want to see them. They cartwheel in the sand and they bet on how many oysters their stomachs can hold. They do those things still. They must. And your father sent me here, stuck in a place for derelicts<\/em>!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMa, they\u2019ll bring you to the funeral. They\u2019ll send a car.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUncle Paulie, come on. That\u2019s harsh.\u201d<\/p>\n Paul whispered, \u201cShe\u2019s worse than I remember.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut you remember everything!\u201d<\/p>\n Paul shook his head. A car flew by with the intent of beating the timing of the Jefferson Avenue streetlight, blaring music voiced in Spanish. Paul felt the immediate need to get away and attend to some paperwork. Any paperwork.<\/p>\n \u201cMa, do you have a black dress? I can have someone look for one in storage if you don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n She looked up at him, eyes set like moisture at the bottom of a canyon. \u201cI don\u2019t want to be made a fixture at this funeral. You\u2019ll seat me at the back and I\u2019ll wear whatever\u2019s dark that I have on hand. Anything else would be an unearned effort.\u201d<\/p>\n Paul swallowed. \u201cOkay, Ma. I\u2019ll take you back inside. It was good to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n He took hold of the handles and started down the path towards the cool, tiled halls where she belonged.<\/p>\n \u201cOne more thing,\u201d she said, fluttering her fingers. \u201cWatch out for my son Paul. He\u2019ll ruin the entire estate just to preserve a name he\u2019s already inherited.\u201d<\/p>\n Continue Reading!\u00a0 Chapter 4: Exclusion on Nashville<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" It would have been more appropriate, Paul thought, to emerge into the late, hot dawn stricken with the remnants of a supernatural vision of his father in some setting heavy with gilded history. To listen to advice and wisdom from …<\/p>\n