Beau just stared at her.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Charlene Oakes. She lives in Attalla.”
Verna put her hand over her mouth. Then she started laughing and crying at the same time, the kind of laugh that comes up from somewhere deep, and she rocked back and sat down hard on the floor next to me.
“Oh, my Lord,” she said. “Oh, my Lord, Jesus. What year were you born, son?”
“Ninety-five,” Beau said. “February.”
“February the ninth?”
Beau sat down on the floor too. I mean his legs just quit on him. I watched it happen.
“How do you know my birthday?” he said.
Verna wiped her face with a dish towel. She looked over at the jukebox, then back at the two of us, and she shook her head like she couldn’t believe what she was about to say.
“Because I caught you,” she said. “Right there. About three feet from where your wife is laying. In an ice storm.”
