“Are you sure, Dot?” he asked when I told him.
“I’m sure.”
“It’s irrevocable. Once you sign it, you can’t take it back.”
“I know.”
He drew up the papers.
I signed them on the first Saturday in September.
In the garden. On my knees. In George’s old hat and my green rubber boots. Between the tomatoes and the roses.
Brandon was there. Of course he was. It was Saturday.
He was pulling weeds in the bean row. When he saw Danny Brennan walk up the driveway with a briefcase, he sat back on his heels and frowned.
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” I said. “Come here a minute.”
He came over. He knelt down in the dirt next to me. His jeans were filthy. His Dollar General sneakers weren’t white anymore. They were brown. Permanently.
Danny opened his briefcase and took out the papers. He laid them on top of an overturned bucket.
