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fireplace. Electricity was added in the 1920s and indoor plumbing arrived in the late 1940s.
    I put in new pipes—copper in, PVC out—in 1980, as well as rewiring. That was an expensive year. Apart from that, if Cora came back to life she’d recognize her home instantly.
    The kitchen, with her butcher block in the middle of the room and a trestle table in the small nook, was as she left it. Only the appliances were new. I’d bought a red enamel stove. Why, I don’t know. I can’t cook but it sure was pretty.
    Grandma’s furniture, sturdy country pieces, dotted the various rooms. Kenny took up whatever discretionary income I had, so I never bought furniture. I made do with Cora’s pieces and a few that Mother donated to the cause. I was, however, good with color and the living room was pale-peach with white trim. Thekitchen was red and white. The wainscoting in the dining room was a clear, deep cream. Above that, instead of using wallpaper, Grandma had hand-painted stencils of stylized birds, silver birds on a blue background. For my thirty-third birthday, Mother repainted them for me. Like Cora, Mom was artistic and good with her hands. I was neither but I was good with my head, so things evened out.
    The phone rang. I sighed. It continued to ring. I gave up and answered it.
    “Why didn’t you pick up your phone this weekend?” Mother went on the offensive.
    “Slipped my mind.”
    “Oh, balls. How am I supposed to know if you’re all right? I hate it when you go off into one of your moons. Anyway, I need you to do my books. End of the month.”
    “I’m not moony. I just wanted to be quiet, which is a virtual impossibility around you.”
    “You, of course, never open your mouth.” She inhaled. “Despite you being an ungrateful brat, I’ve been thinking about the
Clarion
.”
    “Yes.” She had my attention.
    “Well, what if you wrote a memoir of Runnymede and sold it? You know, in the town. Mojo’s would carry it and so would the bookstore. That money could go toward buying the paper. Maybe even a big publisher would want it.”
    “Mother, that’s a wonderful idea but I don’t think I could write such a book and get it on the stands in time.”
    “How long would it take?”
    “At least a year. Think of the research it would take.”
    There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Just ask Louise—she’s two years older than God.”
    “Goodyear must be out of the room.”
    “He’s upstairs on his hooked rug with a chewy bone.” Her voice was light. “I have forgiven Lolly Mabel.”
    I turned from the phone. “Lolly, Grandma forgives you.” Lolly couldn’t have cared less. “She knows.”
    “Good. After all, the dog was only doing her duty. How’s Kenny?”
    “Kenny’s fine.… Did you call Mutzi Elliott to apologize?”
    “I called Mutzi but certainly not to apologize, since I didn’t start it. Anyway, I volunteered to come in an hour early next Friday to set up, and I volunteered you too.”
    “Gee, thanks, Mom.”
    “Well, you don’t have anything else to do—unless you’ve fallen in love.”
    “Very funny.”
    “I wish you’d meet a nice person. I hate to think of you alone—especially when I’m gone.”
    “You’re going to live forever.”
    “Don’t hold your breath.” Mom sighed. “Honey, it took me a long time to understand this gay business but I do, kinda. I don’t see that it’s any different than what your father and I had, only you have it with a woman.”
    It’s funny about Mother. She can be a self-centered bitch and then there are times when she’s so sweet. “You’re right but you can’t invent love, Mother. It’s a gift from God.”
    “If you want to buy the
Clarion
, I want to help, but maybe you ought to get out of this rinky-dink town. Your chances of finding a mate are better if you go to a big city. Baltimore’s not so bad and they’ve got the Orioles. You love the Orioles.”
    “What would you do without me?” My voice had a