her my air-conditioning has gone out. When I ask if I can sleep in my old room for a night, she sounds overjoyed.
My pistol feels heavy, and it’s a pain in the ass keeping it in my hand while I pack a weekend bag. But I recall Max’s jeans riding up, revealing his ankle holster. I’d be a fool to go anywhere without a weapon at the ready. Dr. Kirby told me as much. Keep your head on a swivel, he told me.
Good medical advice.
Once again I’m sitting at my parents’ kitchen table, where I waited for Dr. Kirby earlier today. Mom is making sure Dad is settled in his bed. The kitchen smells of burned coffee, because she still keeps a carafe half-full all day. I think my mother has subsisted mostly on coffee since I was a little boy.
“Marshall?” she murmurs, padding into the kitchen in her housecoat. “Can I fix you some food? I have some étouffée in the fridge. Made it myself.”
“Where do you find time to cook from scratch?”
She rinses her coffee cup, the ancient one with blythe hand-painted on it, then refills it from the carafe. “Marty Denis brought us a mess of peeled tails today, so I just had to make some for your father. All I see at the store now is those Chinese crawfish, and I don’t even consider them real.”
Marty Denis runs a local bank that competes with Claude Buckman’s regional giant, Bienville Southern. He’s got Cajun heritage, but he spends most of his time on the country club golf course, not in his home state. “I guess Marty’s were seined out of some ditch in St. Martin Parish?”
She slides into the chair across from me with a creak of crepitus. “You know it,” she says with a smile. “I can taste the bayou in them.”
Looking into her exhausted but still handsome face, I remember Dr. Kirby telling me that she’s suffering from sleep deprivation. “You don’t have a sitter tonight?”
She waves her hand. “Duncan only likes one well enough to let her help at night, and she needed a night off.”
“Mom, you’ve got to take care of yourself. Money’s no object when it comes to that.”
She forces a smile. “Let’s change the subject.”
“All right. Do you know very much about the Bienville Poker Club?”
My question surprises her. “Blake Donnelly and that crowd?”
“I think Donnelly’s about the best of the bunch. Some of them are pretty shady.”
“Oh, that doesn’t surprise me. How many people really do honest work anymore? Blake’s just rich enough to live a little straighter than the others.”
“I figured Claude Buckman must be richer than Blake.”
Mom purses her lips and weighs what information she possesses. “Oh, I don’t know. Blake’s pumped a lot of oil for a lot of years, collected a lot of mailbox money. Either way, Claude is a slug. Can’t keep his nasty hands to himself. Never could. Ugh.”
We’re silent for a bit, and she sips her coffee in relative contentment.
“What did Dr. Kirby say before he left?” I ask.
She looks unsure whether to tell me, or maybe whether to be completely honest. “I just thank heaven for Jack. He’s been so patient. One of those younger doctors would have thrown up his hands over Duncan long ago.”
I nod but say nothing, leaving silence for her to fill.
“Jack thinks the end is getting close,” Mom says in a church whisper. “Duncan’s not going to stop drinking. I could empty all the bottles, but then he’d break his hip trying to get out to the car. Or, worse, run his wheelchair off the porch. I’m sure you judge me for letting him have it, but, Marshall . . . it’s the only thing that eases his nerves.” She raises her right hand and wipes a tear from one eye. “I know he’ll die sooner, but what’s the alternative? A few extra months of misery?”
I reach out and take her left hand. “I don’t judge you, Mom. You’re a saint to have come this far. Dad’s going to do what he’s going to do.”
More tears come, but I pretend not to see them. She takes a napkin from a holder on the table and dabs the corners of her eyes.
“When you’re in the house,” she says in a wistful voice, “I remember how it used to be, when you and Adam were boys. I don’t just remember it. I see it, every detail. I can hear your voices, see your little faces while you watched me