Nature Girl

Fry smiled because he’d spent lots of time trying to figure out his mother, and that was one of his theories: Her affliction was one of the heart, not the brain. She felt things too deeply and acted on those feelings, and for that there was no known cure. It would explain why all those medicines never worked.

“I believe I’ve heard you use the word crazy,” Honey reminded Ski

“Yeah, well, there’s good crazy and bad crazy.”

At Honey’s place the topic of Louis Piejack had arisen only once, when she’d asked Fry if he understood that by killing Piejack his father had almost surely saved Fry’s life. The boy had never doubted it, although he would have preferred to forget the desolate crunch of wood on bone. Later the Seminole had departed with Piejack’s body, the remnants of the shattered guitar and a bloodstained map provided by Perry Ski

Fry did not need to be told that he hadn’t seen a thing. It was a secret they would keep as a family, and he wondered if it was enough to hold them together.

His father said, “Everybody screws up, son. I made a big-time mistake that put me in prison, but your mom still stuck around. If she hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here right now, givin’ us grief.”

His mother said, “Eat your sweet potatoes, kiddo.”

Fry nodded. “Okay, fine. If the shit hits the fan, we’ll just call Dr. Phil.”

Ski

Honey said they were both impossible, two peas in a pod. “And I don’t care what you say, people can change if they want to.”

The phone started ringing.

“Dammit,” Honey muttered. “Always in the middle of di

Irritably she pushed away from the table.

Fry and his father looked at each other.

“What?” Honey crossed her arms.

“Nothing. Here’s your chance is all,” Fry said.

His mother rose, glowering at the phone. “They’ve got absolutely zero ma

“Just let it ring,” said Fry’s father.

“But they’re so incredibly rude to call at this hour.”

Fry said, “Sit down, Mom. You can do it.”

Eight, nine, ten times the phone rang.

“I forgot-the answer machine’s off,” she said.

“Perfect.” Perry Ski

“Sure. Nooooo problem,” Honey said, but she didn’t sit down.

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen rings.

She looked achingly at Fry, as if to say, I’m trying.

He gave her a thumbs-up.

“Finish your soup, Mom. Before it gets cold.”

The phone stopped ringing.

Honey sat down with her boys.