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“How discreet are they?” she asks. “Oh, somewhere between a parrot and the National Enquirer.”
Dell returns from the bathroom. “Aspirin and Cheerios,” he says, holding up a bottle and a baggie. “I say toss a few in the playpen and go back to bed.” “Aspirin or Cheerios?” I ask. I lift Grace into the air a few times, up and down, getting myself awake and making her giggle. “I probably couldn’t tell the difference.”
“You can take the boy out of Alabama,” he says, “but we can pour the Alabama right back in.” He clinks my glass. “Chug-a-lug.”
