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Lula came over to see the photos. “Who we looking at?”
“Grandma’s boyfriend and his wife,” I said.
“Say what?”
The only thing Roger Murf had in common with George Hamilton was a tan. Murf was short, mostly bald, and overweight. His wife was equally tan, equally overweight, and excessively wrinkled. Their photos came from the DMV and from an article about a senior center swingers club.
“They need a good dermatologist,” Lula said.
I took the photos from Connie and stuffed them into my messenger bag.
“I’ll run these over to Grandma, and then I’m going to check on Ethel.”
Lula looked out the office front window. “You got the zombie car back. I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to go down Diggery’s road with that car. There could be zombies lurking that remember you drove over one of them.”
“We could take your car.”
“No way. Even if we didn’t hit any zombies it would get all dusty.”
I tried not to roll my eyes, but I was only partially successful. “Okay, I’ll drive. Are you coming?”
“Hell, yeah. Somebody’s got to be there to shoot the zombies.”
• • •
I left Lula in the car, and I ran to my parents’ house. Grandma was in the foyer, holding her purse.
“Are you going somewhere?” I asked.
“I got a date.”
“You aren’t going to Florida, are you?”
“No. That’s old business,” Grandma said. “I’m moving on. I don’t know if I want to keep up with a man who looks like George Hamilton. You got to put a lot of work into looking that good. Besides I got a new honey. This tan and hairdo got me a date with Willie Kuber. He used to be a butcher at Giovichinni’s. We’re going to the shore to play skillo.”
“Wow. That’s great.”
“I’m pretty stoked,” Grandma said. “He could be the one. I’ve had my eye on him ever since his wife passed. For an older man, he’s got a real nice bum.”
I told Grandma to have fun, and I hurried back to Lula.
“Did you break the news to her?” Lula asked.
“Wasn’t necessary. She has a date with Willie Kuber. They’re going to the shore to play skillo.”
“I don’t know who that is, but playing skillo is an excellent date idea.”
I drove out of the Burg and took Broad Street to Diggery’s neighborhood. Halfway to his double-wide I almost ran over a groundhog. It was sneakers-up in the middle of the single-lane road.
I stopped, and Lula and I peered over the hood at the brown blob.
“Looks like a big ol’ groundhog,” Lula said.
“Yeah, a big ol’ dead groundhog. I can’t drive around it, but I think I’ll clear if I drive over it.”
“Yeah, but what if it isn’t dead, and you don’t clear it? Then you got more blood on your hands. First you mow down a zombie, and now you risk smooshing a groundhog. Maybe this groundhog’s just taking a nap.”
I blew my horn at the groundhog. Nothing.
