[dropcap]I[/dropcap] looked at the framed photos in the Martin family hallway. Old pictures of Jamie, her brother and her sister. There’s also one disturbing photograph of Jamie’s great grandaddy as a toddler – wearing a dress. I’m mesmerized by that one.

“Oh, help!” came the cry from the bedroom. It was Miss Mary, my mother-in-law. She was in pain. She hollered like the Devil had her by the ankle.

“Ouch! Help!”

I jogged through the house following her screams, worried what I might find. I half expected the worst. A bad fall, or God forbid, a kidney stone.

I’ve always considered myself someone who handles stress well. I’m laid back to a fault. Some would call me lazy,and maybe I am. The only thing I get excited about is canceled plans. I even slept through hurricane Ivan. The whole thing. When I woke up, Navarre, Florida had disappeared.

A hurricane is one thing, a mother-in-law crisis is another. What if Miss Mary had busted her hip? Would I possess enough know-how to perform major surgery using only a boning knife and a bottle of Jose Cuervo?

Absolutely.

When I arrived to the back bedroom, it wasn’t good. My mother-in-law was in agony. Her face was tense with pain.

“What in the world is going on back here?” I asked.

“She’s fine,” Jamie answered. “I’m clipping Mother’s ingrown toenail, this thing’s grown halfway up to her liver.”

“Ouch, help me,” Mary said.

So I handed my mother-in-law the bottle of Jose Cuervo.