“That sounds good,” I said. Things like burgers and hotdogs were an exceptionally rare treat back in the Arkansas woods and only to be enjoyed once in a while if the family happened to be in a larger town for some type of business. Momma fried ground beef patties at home sometimes, but if that got put in a sandwich, it didn’t resemble a burger. I ordered a chili dog, and she ordered just a plain hotdog with mustard and nothing else. We carried our meals in little paper boxes and our sodas to a nearby table. My chili dog was a little harder to eat than I expected, and when I ended up smearing chili across my cheek, Wanda reached across the table with her napkin and gently dabbed my face. It almost felt like Momma wiping my face when I was a little boy. “Thank you,” I said.
“Never knew a ma
