Vee stumbled into my kitchen, following the smell of fresh brewed coffee the next morning. She had wrinkles in the shape of the pillow my grandmother had hand-stitched and given me for Christmas. If I could have colored in the lines, she would have looked like she had a merry pair of Northern Cardinals on the left side of her face. I knew better than to laugh by the look in her eyes.

“Hung-over much?” I asked. I poured a big mug of dark roast and held it out for her. She nodded slightly...