“Oh, yeah . . . what did the good doctor prescribe this time?” He counted to three in his head and gave the wrench all he had.

“C ohhh enzyme something or other,” his mom said.

Her words didn’t register, and the bolt moved.

“Yes!” He positioned the wrench again, and this time the bolt gave way. As it did, bits of rust fell into his face. He closed his eyes and kept his lips sealed as he worked the rest of the bolt free.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“No, Mom . . . I’m having a party under here.”

His mom’s face popped into his field of view. “Oh, did you get it?”

“Yes, I did.” And without so much as one f-bomb escaping his mouth. That had to be a first.

“I’ll put the chicken in the oven, then. And by the time it’s all done, I’ll be able to do the dishes.”

He wanted to argue, say he couldn’t stay for dinner, but knew it would be a waste of his breath.

“Skip the salt on the chicken,” he told her.

“Oh, did your doctor say it’s bad for you, too? That’s how it started with your father, you know.”

“Not me, you.” His mother was only sixty-five, but she often acted like she was eighty. And outside of her blood pressure soaring into the high zone, his mother was healthy as a horse. Truth be told . . . he knew nothing about horses or their overall health.

An hour later, the new faucet was in, his back was out, and Dameon had a beer in his hand.

Lois, his mom, stood in front of her sink turning the water on and off repeatedly. “So fancy,” she told him.

“I could really show you fancy if you let me fix up the place.”

She pulled the spray handle down and turned it on once again. “This is fancy.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Your father left me quite comfortable. Save your money for you. Or help your brother out.”

Just mentioning his younger brother had Dameon picking up his cell phone. “If Tristan ever wants a job—one he would actually do—he knows where to find me.” They both knew that would never happen. Tristan was allergic to work. He’d worked for Dameon for less than two weeks three years ago, and said he couldn’t hack it. Now he lived in what looked like a hostel with a dozen other pot-smoking surfers just outside of San Diego. What he did for money, Dameon could only guess. At least he didn’t harp on their mom for support.

Lois brought the chicken to the table and put her hand over his. “Your brother is finding himself.”

“At the end of a joint? Chances are, he isn’t going to find anything.”

She walked back to the stove and brought the rest of their dinner. “That stuff isn’t that bad.”

“It’s making him lazy.”

Lois took her seat and put a hand under her chin. “It always made me hungry.”

His hand that was reaching for the chicken stopped midway. “Excuse me?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “I did grow up in the sixties. Don’t be so shocked. In fact, it was your father that offered me my first joint. It was illegal then.” She whispered illegal as if the walls were listening.

Dameon blinked. “I know.”

She grinned like a teenager with a secret. “I remember it being fun. Your father used to like to—” She stopped midsentence and pinched her lips together.

Much as Dameon wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what she was about to say, he found himself asking, “Like to what?”

Lois smiled and looked at the ceiling as she often did when talking about his dad. It had been five years since he had a sudden heart attack and died within twenty-four hours. It had been a blow to all of them.

His mom lowered her voice to a rough whisper and leaned forward. “It made him horny.”

Dameon squeezed his eyes shut and thought for sure his ears were bleeding. “Okay, then . . . thank you for that.”

“Well, it did.” Her voice was back in its normal range. “We had the best sex—”

“Mom! Please. I’m glad to know you and Dad were happy flower children, but if you want me to eat, save the descriptions.”

His mom started laughing.

It didn’t take long for him to join her.

When they both stopped, he continued to fill his plate.

“I miss him every day.”

He reached over and patted her hand. “I know.”

“It’s why I don’t want to change stuff around here.”

“I know that, too. But eventually—”

“Eventually. But not today.”

He took a sip of his beer and dug into the food. Good as it was . . . it needed salt.

“How is this work you’re married to?”

Same questions . . . different day. “Work is good. And I’m not married to it.”

“So you’re dating?”

He poked his fork into another bite of chicken and waved it in the air. “I won’t tell you about my sex life, and you won’t tell me about yours.”

“So you have a sex life.”

He was not stepping in that minefield. “Mom.”

“Sex isn’t love. What about your love life?”

“If there was someone special in my life, you would know.”

She reached across the table, picked up his beer, and took a drink. “That’s what I thought. You’re married to your work.”

Next would be the reminder that she wasn’t getting any younger and she wanted a daughter-in-law and grandkids.

Dameon stood from the table and retrieved a fresh beer from the fridge. He popped it open and handed it to his mom.

Instead of saying no, which she normally did, she took it from him and tilted it back for more than a sip.

He waited for the inquisition and guilt.

Lois picked up her knife and fork and silently cut into her food.

Seconds passed.

Only the chime of the grandfather clock in the hall filled the room.

No harping. No more questions.

No banter whatsoever.

What he saw on his mother’s face was worse.

Sadness.

If there was one thing Dameon hated more than anything, it was letting his mother down. Wasn’t that why he crawled under her sink because she asked? Why he would find a job, even if it was delivering lunch to the employees, for Tristan if he ever grew up.

An image of Grace flashed in his head, and his mouth started moving. “I did meet someone.”

His mom’s eyes shot to his faster than a bullet left the chamber of a gun.

“We just met, so don’t get too excited,” he said.

“What’s her name?”

Was he really going to say this? “Grace.”

That sadness melted away with his answer. “That’s a lovely name.”

“She’s clever and confident.” He thought of Grace in that dress, freezing her butt off outside the Hyatt. “Beautiful.”

“How long have you been dating?”

To lie or not to lie?

He channeled his inner politician instead. “It’s new, Mom.”

Thankfully that’s all he needed to say.

“This makes my heart happy.”

It would make her heart equally unhappy to know the complete truth. And since his mother didn’t venture too far outside her neighborhood and friends, he wasn’t worried she’d stumble upon the facts.