Chapter Two
“The year was 1978...”
In a scraggly old prospector’s voice, Carl imitated her, saying, “The year was nineteen-ought-seven. Our wagon had just set sail for the hills...”
“Wagons don’t have sails,” Ricky joined in. “Just thought I’d mention that.”
Debbie tugged her hair, gingerly avoiding the patch of skull that had been blown across the room when she was shot. “You boys are driving me crazy! I thought you wanted me to tell the new guy how we died.”
“Sorry, Sis,” Carl said.
Ricky added, “I’ll zip my lip.”
He did, and threw away the key. Mother reached for his hand and desperately kissed his fingers. Seeing how upset she still was after all these years really bummed Debbie out.
She turned her attention to the young man watching TV before saying, “Hi, again. Like
