“Of course it was only the Joey I imagined. Would he have long lashes like his mother’s? Her dark, sparkling eyes? He looked blond in the photograph—like his grand-daddy and me. Maggie had our mother’s rich brown hair. Augusta sat up front with me and sang—not always on key, but somehow it didn’t matter. She liked the old ones best, she said, songs from as far back as the twenties and thirties. I learned the words to “Side by Side,” a Depression song, and some silly thing from the forties about ...little lambs eating ivy. Her favorite, of course, was “My Blue Heaven.” The singing helped to keep my mind off what we might find—or not find when we got there. What if Sonny’s family had reached Joey first? In spite of the cheery songs, a dark thought slipped in, and I couldn’t help but think of a frightened toddler crying for a mother that never came. A tear slipped down my face. “None of that,” Augusta said. “The time for crying is past. Tears won’t help your sister or her little boy now.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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