He left his Flossy behind to look after my father and me, even putting me in the bed with her at night, fearful that I might turn onto my stomach and die in the crib. Of course, I don’t remember any of this, only Gramp’s retelling of it. And I was too young to recall if my father went out during this time, but if he did go out, it wouldn’t have been to the Squire. It’s likely enough that he would have visited Junebug. After all, they grew up together and were practically brother and sister. The word “practically” catches in my throat. Nobody is practically anything. You either are, or you’re not, and they weren’t. How much comforting Junebug gave my father and where it might have led, I’ll never know because he’s dead and Chumley’s dead and, unless I’m dreaming all this, which I sincerely
