“On land his father gave him, land his father always wanted to build on but he died before he could do it so Max did.”
“Wow,” she whispered.
“I know,” I whispered back.
“Are you there now?”
“Yes.”
“Is it nice?”
“Oh yes.”
“Where’s he?”
“Taking care of some business in town.”
“So the place you rented is just sitting there?”
“No, I rented his place. There was a mess up with the reservation, I arrived and he was home but I had a really bad flu and Max took care of me while I was sick and… well… then I just –”
She interrupted me and asked, “You found this on the internet?”
“Yes.”
“Give me the website,” she demanded.
“Sorry?”
“The website, Neenee Bean, I want to see photos.”
I tried to decide if I wanted my mother to see photos of Max’s A-Frame.
Then I decided I wanted my mother to see photos of Max’s A-Frame.
I gave her the website but warned, “The photos aren’t that good. The place is better.”
“Oh hogwash, the photos are always better.”
“Trust me, Mom,” I looked from the view through the house, “they don’t do it justice.” Then I cried, “Oh! And Jimmy Cotton lives in town and Max and I were out on his land, Cotton ran into us and took our picture.”
“You’re kidding!” she screeched, excited since she took me to my first Cotton exhibition at The Met and she loved his work nearly as much as me.
“I’m not!”
“You have to send me the picture. Send it to Steve’s e-mail.”
Mom didn’t do the internet or e-mail or at least she told everyone in a superior way that she didn’t do the internet or e-mail. That said, she was on Steve’s e-mail all the time if the many jokes and lessons on “sisterhood” and heartwarming stories she forwarded were any indication.
I tried to decide if I wanted my mother to see Cotton’s photo of Max and me.
Then I decided I wanted my mother to see Cotton’s photo of Max and me.
“I’ll e-mail it in awhile.”
“Wonderful.”
I heard the door upstairs open and I said, “Mindy’s out of the shower, I have to go.”