This One and Magic Life by Anne C. George

sister. I’ve admired her work for a long time, and I was on several flights with her. She was a wonderful lady.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œI kept that article that was in Time a couple of years ago that had all the pictures of her paintings, and she signed it for me and did a little pencil sketch around the edges. I have it framed in my bedroom.” Patty stands up and pats the casket self-consciously. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know. She touched a lot of lives.”
    â€œYes, she did. Thank you.”
    Patty nods and goes back to the kitchen again. In a few minutes she comes by with some sandwiches and disappears into the cockpit. Donnie nurses his drink and looks out at the green that is South Alabama. Farm ponds reflect the sun; a school bus sits motionless on the interstate.
    Donnie wants to open the casket and talk to Artie, hold her hand. He needs to tell her that he, Donnie, is not sophisticated enough for cremation. He needs to ask her why she wanted this when all he wants is to put her in her yellow dress by Mama and Papa or by Carl’s marker and take her flowers on their birthday and be buried beside her someday. He places two fingers against the cold gray metal. That wouldn’t be bad, up there in Myrtlewood, Artie. Maybe Hektor would come, too, and Mariel, of course, and eventually Dolly and her children. Surely she’ll have some kids. Maybe May and her family, too.
    He leans over close to the casket. “Artie,” he whispers, “why in hell are you making me do this? Is there something here I’m supposed to understand that I’m missing? Is it Mama? Zeke Pardue?”
    The air conditioner is too low; Donnie is freezing. He gets up and goes to fix another vodka tonic. On the counter in the little galley is a jar of beer nuts. He takes a handful with his drink and goes back to his seat. He is shaking so hard the ice cubes in his drink rattle against the banana tree on the glass.
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    On One Life to Live , Vicky Buchanan is having brain surgery to rid her of the evil Nicky Smith who is her alter ego and who pops out at crucial times in Vicky’s life to go to bars and pick up men and generally cavort in a manner unseemly for the ladylike Victoria.
    â€œGoodbye, Vicky. You’ll miss me,” says Nicky, rising from the body on the operating table and wafting across the room. A last toss of her rakish red wig and she is out the door.
    â€œI’m gonna miss her,” says Reese. “She got Vicky in a lot of trouble.” He, Dolly, and Mrs. Randolph are sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch and watching TV. Reese and Mrs. Randolph are glad to have Dolly in the chair that has been empty for weeks. They were just sitting down as Dolly came in, and they insisted that she join them. “Just drink some iced tea, anyway,” Mrs. Randolph said when Dolly hesitated. “Make you feel better,” Reese added, pushing the chair out.
    â€œThat Nicky was no good.” Mrs. Randolph points a fork toward the TV. “You watch this?” she asks Dolly.
    Dolly shakes her head no. “Well, when I was down here, I’d watch it sometimes with Artie.”
    â€œArtie did like her stories,” Reese says.
    â€œWell, Nicky was all in Vicky’s mind,” Mrs. Randolph explains the story line, “because she was abused as a child.”
    â€œHer very own daddy. Off in the head.” Reese takes another helping of potato salad. “You know, I knew aman once thought he was a chicken part of the time, sort of perched on his steps and crowed. Never bothered a soul and nobody paid him much mind. Got run over by a train, though. Number Six on its way to Montgomery. Real slow train, too. Makes you wonder.”
    Dolly and Mrs. Randolph think about this for a minute. Dolly sees the man perched on the track crowing at the oncoming Number Six.
    â€œThe mind can do strange things,” Mrs. Randolph says. “My brother Rudy was