Don’t smoke! I wanted to yell but remembered Dad’s words: Leave your mother alone. It’s one of the few pleasures she has left.
“I haven’t thought about that in years,” said Mom.
“It wasn’t that long ago you were telling Eleanor.” Then again, maybe it was. I wanted a black Speedo that day and came home with a white cotton nightgown.
She lit a cigarette with her Zippo lighter and took a long drag before exhaling. “We did that when we were kids, when we were mad at each other. Collected rocks and piled them on the lawn of the person we were mad at. Seems funny now.”
“The Quarrel Game,” said Nana, standing by the bedroom door.
“Yes. You named it that, Mother. I’d forgotten.”
“Quarrel. Like quarry,” I said.
“Quarrel is an angry dispute, a squabble,” said Nana. “Quarry is game, an anim
