Shane's feet went out from under him and he went down, the cardboard box in his lap, its contents thumping against the side. He dropped the shovel, and seven-year-old Melanie Coronado laughed and pointed at him. "You fell on your bottom!"

Parmelia Mobley, D.V.M., told her, "Shut up, Hon." She stepped carefully over to Shane, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, luckily I fell on a pine cone and a rock." He yelled at Melanie, "Nobody likes mean girls! Isn't that right, Parmie?"

Parmie turned back to Melanie. "Melanie, say you're sorry."

"I'm sorry, Aunt Parmie's friend." She didn't look sorry. "Aunt Parmie's not really my Aunt, but I call her my Aunt."

Parmie told her, "Yeah, your mom and me, we're blood sisters since we were your age." She looked back at Shane. "Kimberly Coronado. You remember, we met her once at the International Farmers Market?"

"God, yes. Say—nice embroidered kittens, there, Parmie. On the back of your pants, where your butt is."

"Well, I never really looked."

"Well, you should look. Looks good."  Shane got to his feet. "Huh. Better watch your step around here. Why'd they bury people on a hillside right in front of a big office building for, anyway?"

Parmie pondered Shane for a moment. You could never tell whether he was joking or genuinely clueless. "Well, Honey, when Vinings Cemetery was founded, none of this stuff was here. No office buildings, no shopping center across the street."

"No Chick-fil-A?"  He pointed in the direction of Cumberland Parkway. (Parmie heard her own stomach reflexively growl. Damn my borborygmus.) "I bet I can smell the chicken from here." Shane took a deep breath, then grimaced, his eyes squeezed shut. "Oh my God. What the hell is that?" He squinted at the box. "Oh, right. Boy, he sure smells dead."

Melanie stomped over. She pointed at the box. "Charlie doesn't smell! It's skunk smell."

"Well, maybe you should have wrapped more tape around the box. What is that?" He read the letters visible on the box between strips of duct tape. "Pink Dream?"

Melanie said "Barbie Pink Dream Townhouse."

"You like Barbie?"

She made a disgusted face. "Ick! That's my brother's. He's a girl."

Shane looked at Parmie. She shrugged. "Melanie's fraternal twin brother, Cody. "

"And he's a Barbie fan?"

"He's grown out of Barbie. Really into designer shoes these days. Knows all the designers; kid can spot a knock-off at ten yards, I don't know how he does it."

"Yeah, but that doesn't make him a girl."

Melanie said, "He's a girl!"

Parmie gave her a gentle noogie. "He's been saying he's a girl since he was two."

"He's transfigured?"

"God, Shane. He's transgender. "

Melanie said, "I don't like Barbie. I like G.I. Joe."

Shane gave her a thumbs-up. "I thought so, because I saw your backpack. Okay, Melanie, let's get your dog in the ground."

"His name's Charlie! Charlie Russell. He's a Jack Russell Terrier, but he's Charlie Russell, not Jack."

"Charlie it is. Pick a spot. Long as there's not already a person there. You go on, we'll watch."

Melanie trotted off, stopping occasionally with a finger in her mouth to consider a patch of ground. Shane muttered, "Sure-footed like a goat." He turned to look up at the office tower looming over the tiny graveyard. "Y'know, this is where Wishes is working. A whole week now. I figure he'll get me a job there pretty soon."

Parmie frowned. "Seriously?"

"He's five for five so far. Every time we get fired, he gets us a new job."

"I wouldn't count on that, Hon, not in this economy."

Shane pointed. "Office is right up there. Bridgehead, Pikeman & Markham. Don't worry so much, Parmie, it'll give you gray hairs."

"You like older women."

"I like Sigourney Weaver. She's 61."

"You'd still hit that, wouldn't you?"

"I would hit that. I'd hit that from orbit. Only way to be sure."

Melanie yelled from behind them, "You're not supposed to hit girls!"

Shane turned around. "You're back! Great; didja find a good place?"

Melanie ran downhill ten yards. "Here!"

"Under the tree? Awesome." Shane picked up the box again, and the shovel. "You two watch out for cops."

While Shane broke ground under the tree, Melanie took off her G.I. Joe backpack and pulled out a thick plastic cutting board. She brought it over and showed Shane. "See? Aunt Parmie carved it with a power tool, but she had to wear big glasses.  Then I colored in the letters."

"Can you read that to me?" Shane already had a box-size hole half a foot deep. Parmie felt a sudden rush of pleasure at seeing him work so hard and sweat so heavily. Shane was a couch potato until somebody needed a hole dug or furniture moved; then he turned into a stevedore.

Melanie held the plastic marker up and read aloud, making her voice deep: "Here lies Charlie Russell Terrier, died on his fifth birthday, August 4 two zero eleven. Good dog. Girl's best friend."

Shane kept talking while he dug. "He died on his birthday? Just like my friend Wishes' mom. Sorry, Melanie, that sucks."

"He's in Heaven now. It's all full of rabbits in wheelchairs 'cause they can't walk. They're tryin' to get away, but Charlie gets 'em! Rowr, rowr!" Melanie gnashed her teeth. "Nothing left but little wheelchairs with blood on 'em." Parmie rubbed Melanie's back. The kid was improving; a year ago she would have been breaking everything she could reach.

Shane didn't speak for a while as he tried to get more depth in the grave. "Parmie, what was the C.O.D.?"

Melanie shouted, "Cause of Death! Skunktastic Shock!"

Parmie said, "Skunk Toxic Shock Syndrome, Honey." To Shane she said, "Common striped skunk, Mephitis mephitis. Charlie got into a den, because they were bred to penetrate fox burrows."

Melanie said, "Like a secret agent dog."

Parmie said, "Charlie got sprayed pretty bad. So Melanie's mom shampooed him with Skunk Off, but somehow didn't think to call me."

Melanie said, "And he got Skunktastic Shock and died. The End."

"Yeah, it can kill a dog days later. Makes red blood cells explode."

Melanie flung her arms wide. "Boom!"

Shane said, "This is a strange Saturday. Not how I thought it'd go. You know it's Smyrna's birthday? 139 years."

"If that's what you'd rather be doing, go ahead. I don't want to waste your Saturday."

His brows scrunched together the way that always made her want to pat his head. "Parmie, you make my Saturday. Don't you think I want to spend every Saturday with you? They're having that thing at Atkins Park Tavern tonight, I thought you might like it."

"What thing?"

"That Luaupalooza thing. I read about it online. You want to go? To the thing?"

"No, that's not the thing I'm concerned with, not at all."

Shane glanced at Melanie, who was busy throwing pine cones at gravestones. He asked, "What thing, then?"

"Shane, you know what thing."

He leaned toward her. "Is the thing my penis?"

Parmie turned and yelled at Melanie, "Melanie, throw a pine cone at him!"

Without hesitation Melanie wound up and hurled a cone. Shane watched it come and moved his head so it only clipped his ear.

"Son of a — Ow!" He held his ear. "Ow!" He took his hand away. "Is there blood?"

"Hold still. Little bit." Parmie dug in her kitten-embroidered cargo pants for the Neosporin spray she always carried. "There. We don't have to put you to sleep. Sorry for using the little girl as an enforcer."

"Kid's going to be a sociopath."

"Don't be silly, they don't use that term anymore."

"Psychopath?"

"Maybe she can work at BPM with you and Wishes. I hear they're ruthless, even for lawyers." She called to Melanie, "Honey, that was a special case. Don't throw things at people from now on."

"Okie-dokie."

Parmie took a turn with the shovel while Shane held a handkerchief to his ear.  Melanie stared up at him. She said, "I'm sorry I hurt your ear." It sounded like she might actually be sorry this time.

They didn't talk again until the hole was ready and the box was in it. Melanie put most of the dirt back in; Parmie finished up, and they set the plastic marker upright in the ground and jammed rocks against it.

Melanie fished in her jumper pocket and pulled out a handful of squashed flowers. She threw them on the new grave and walked off without a word, heading uphill to the parking area.

Shane nodded at the marker. "Y'know, Wishes could carve a real headstone if you want."

"He could?"

"Yeah, he's done it before. Long story. Think any of the dead people'll mind having a dog for company?"

"A dog's better company than most people."

Shane said, "Twain said, 'Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read!'" Parmie thought of telling him that wasn't Mark Twain, but she kept her mouth closed.

They walked uphill, Shane with the shovel over his shoulder.  He grabbed Parmie's hand. "Watch your step. Y'know, I believe you like graveyards. I remember you liking graveyards. I know you do."

She felt herself blushing. "Shut up, I do not. Well, maybe at night." Nobody else made her blush; just this hapless man-child. Damn it, Shane.

"One particular night, for sure. Hold up a second, Parmie." They paused together at the gate. "We'll talk it through like you said. The thing. I know it's not my penis."

"Shane, I don't care about 'the thing', or 'incident', or whatever. But we need to talk about us."

"Okay."

"Promise? Don't shine me on again."

Shane held up his left hand, three fingers up. "Scout's honor. I can't do it with the other hand, that's why I use my left hand. It's not official, but the Scouts kicked me out, so screw 'em."

"Just promise."

"I promise. Maybe after the luau thing?"

She looked down at the My Little Pony wristwatch on her belt. Kim Coronado had given it to her on her birthday, 1992. It still worked. "I've got to get Melanie back, and I'm babysitting her tonight." She looked at Melanie, who had climbed on the roof of Parmie's Beetle and was pretending to have died of boredom, her head hanging down on the windshield. "Kim can't miss a party."

"Well, it's a whole town's birthday." Shane leaned closer. "I want to talk, I do. Just have to find the words. Let's meet at the Burgess plot. You remember; our bench."

"Tomorrow. No—I've gotta go in early Monday."

"Monday night, maybe? Parmie?"

She looked at him. He was visibly holding his breath. She let him hold it for a while before she answered.

"Exhale. Okay, Monday night." She hesitated, then added, "Dusk."

He smiled, something so rare it always surprised her. "Dusk! Thanks, Dollface."

"Hey, write it down. Write a manifesto or what have you, and read it to me. At the bench."

"Our bench."

He was still leaning in, and impulsively she gave him a quick hard kiss.

Melanie made gagging sounds. "Ick, ick, get a room!"