The other end of the line was silent for a good five seconds.

Susan’s confrontational abrasion melted away into the sweetness of a Southern grandma, sweet as molasses.

“Now sweet thing, do you think you could bring that yearbook to me up in North Dallas?”

“Can I just mail it to you or drop it off?”

“I can fix you dinner and explain you why it has to be this way if you can do that. There are some things you probably need to know I can only explain in person.”

*

Susan lived in a little house in a part of Dallas that will probably be cool in five years, but is just shitty now. I had to avoid 10 landmines of dog feces as I walked up to the faded and rotted pink front door. I knocked on the door softly as to not disturb a hornet’s nest which bustled above the door frame.

The yips and clawings of what sounded like a dozen lap dogs erupted as soon as I knocked.

“Heavens,” I heard Susan growl from the other side of the door.

The door opened and five different dogs all only a little larger than your average squirrel darted at my feet. I tried to act like it didn’t bother me, probably failed.

Susan looked better than I thought she would. Thin, but healthy with a head of long blonde hair (dyed, but dyed well) and a classy outfit of black leggings, a black and gray cardigan over a plain white shirt and hipster glasses. She was far from the obese, elderly pile of ash I expected to find.

I handed Susan the yearbook, but she made no move for it.

“No, no, no. I made short ribs and peach pie for two, not one.”

Susan gave me a warm smile. The kind I yearned for from a parental figure my entire life. I relented and followed her into her home and held my breath, fighting against the burn of pet urine mixing with the scent of baking food.

*

Susan cooked the kind of food I always wished a parental figure would cook for me – gourmet, but down home, hearty and filling. I felt over-indulged about three bites in, but couldn’t stop eating.

“I’ve been waiting for someone to dial that pager for seventeen years,” Susan turned the conversation to the real reason I was there after about 10 minutes of small talk while I was in mid-bite.

I had forgotten why I was even there for a second.

“We got that pager for Kirsten as a compromise. She wanted a cell phone, but we didn’t want to give her everything we wanted, so we met in the middle with that thing. I liked that it helped us keep tabs on her when she headed over to Texas Christian, but Dave wasn’t sure.”