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I glanced at Jackson, wondering exactly how much he’d told his father about me, and nodded. “She had a spot in the Ninth Ward for about twenty years before Hurricane Katrina wiped it out. She retired after that.” Brig looked distressed. “I’m sorry to hear that. She didn’t want to rebuild?” “We didn’t have the money to rebuild.” At the mention of money, Brig’s eyes glazed over. “Well. It’s wonderful that you’re carrying on the family tradition. Your mother must be very proud.” If I thought Jackson was stiff before, now he became an icicle. But he didn’t say a word. It was like he’d shut down all cylinders except the outrage one. I knew I was in the middle of an ancient family drama and was ticked at Jackson for not giving me a compass to navigate my way. Judging by his silent performan
- Writer
