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money with full benefits, including a retirement plan.”
    Ukiah remembered a moment of silence, which probably meant Mom Jo and Mom Lara were doing their marriage telepathy thing and communicating only in glances. “Are you sure he could qualify for a PI license?”
    Ukiah had let out a deep sigh of relief, surprising himself with how much he wanted his moms to say “yes,” “maybe,” or even “we’ll think about it and let you know.”
    â€œYou’ve told me he reads and writes at a high enough level to pass a GED. I can help him study for the Pennsylvania Private Investigator licensing test. If he can pass a GED, with his memory, the licensing test shouldn’t be any problem. He’ll have no trouble with the physical. Bonding might be trickier with his weird background. But to get it all started, you have to go to the courts and get him recognized by the United States legal system. You have to get him recognized as a legal adult. You have to get him a Social Security number.”
    He hadn’t thought Mom Jo would go for all of it. She hated and feared “the system.” He had heard her whisper more than once to Mom Lara, “If they ever knew Ukiah wasn’t legally adopted, they would take him away from us.” When he had been younger, he had had nightmares about “they.” He had been amazed that she said yes.
    Memory being what it was—three years later and almost asleep on his bed—Ukiah realized that probably the only reason his moms had said yes was because Mom Lara had been told she might have only weeks to live.
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    Cally woke him for dinner. She crawled onto his bed and hugged him awake with more sharp knees and hard elbows than a human child should have. She gave him a blackberry jam kiss, a sticky smile, and then demanded a horseback ride down all three flights of stairs to the yard.
    He recalled his last thoughts before going to sleep and the horseback ride went down into Mom Lara’srose garden to visit the grave of one Miss Pretty Lightfoot. Sometime over the years the rock marking the grave had been moved. If Cally even remembered the burial, she gave no sign. To have the memory of a child—he wondered what it was like.
    The ride went to the big wraparound porch where his moms and Max were laughing. His feet boomed on the painted wood floor, so he made a complete circle of the porch, making the most of the effect. Finally he collapsed onto the top porch step to drop Cally off.
    â€œAgain!” Cally cried, half-choking him with one of her misplaced bear hugs.
    Mom Lara saved him by gently prying her off. “Cally, honey, it’s almost dinnertime. Go wash your face and hands.”
    Mom Jo gave him a hug and let him go with a “Now let me look at this.” She tilted his head aside to look at his neck.
    â€œIt’s nothing, Mom.”
    â€œNothing? An inch over or wider—” She shook her head and scowled first at Ukiah and then at Max. “Sometimes—”
    â€œMom, I’m fine.” He grinned at her, silently vowing that she would never see the disc in Max’s Hummer. “I cut myself worse than this the first time I shaved.”
    They heard a shout of laughter from inside the house, and Mom Lara called, “You have to admit Jo, he did.”
    With that, it was over—the least amount of fuss they had ever put up over him being hurt while working.
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    They had steak, medium for Mom Lara and mooing for Ukiah, Max, and Mom Jo. Cally announcedproudly she had picked all the salad ingredients, and the mangled vegetables showed it. Max talked Mom Lara through grilling summer squash instead of her normal pan-fry. Mom Jo brought out a bottle of wine and a glass of grape juice for Cally. Dusk fell and the yard became bejeweled with fireflies. Cally begged a jar off of Mom Lara and went off chasing the gleaming insects.
    Ukiah sat on the porch, watching her play, drinking the