Verna lives in Mobile now. She sends Hollis a card every month with two dollars in it, which she says is “for his waffle fund.” Every February, on Beau’s birthday and on the anniversary of the night we met her, we drive down there and take her to breakfast. At a Waffle House, of course. She sits in the booth and critiques the cook the whole time.
Charlene and Verna talk on the phone every Sunday now. They call each other “Mama Two” and “Mama One,” and I’m still not sure which is which.
And at Thanksgiving this year, when Charlene started in on the story of how Beau was born in an ice storm on a diner floor, nobody rolled their eyes. Not one person. Beau just reached over and squeezed my hand, and Hollis, sitting in his high chair with mashed potatoes in his hair, banged his spoon on the tray like he knew exactly who she was talking about.
