"So your grandma raised you after that?" He grins, thinking of her. This is a funeral too. "I moved back here when I was eighteen, even though Gran would have rather kept an eye on me." He admits she died too, a week ago, and Amy is moved. She looks at him with too much understanding, too much gentleness and love, and he closes up tight. Or tries to. "Goddamn. I don't mean to be spillin'. I never do this." Not with anybody? Not even with Sookie? "Least of all her. She brings out the worst in me." She points back my own ugliness. Everyone who visits Fangtasia! is looking for death. He dreamed of fucking Liam when he was wide awake. She brings out the worst in me. "We had this big fight after Gran died, and ... I hit her." He swallows it. "I am the worst brother in the world," he says, horrified and sad. Surprised to hear the words taking form in his mouth and sound so true.

Amy sits and touches his shoulder gently, trying to catch his eyes and bring them back. Here, now. Be with me: "That's ridiculous. I've seen who you are inside. I've been there. And you're good." Oh the way the V lets her walk about inside him and tell him things he never knew. He jerks away; it's too much. Boys don't. She turns his face to hers, daring him to hear her. Daring him to see her, seeing him. Seeing himself matter. She wipes away his tears, and sees it in his eyes: he does. As long as nobody moves and nothing changes and nobody reminds him what he's lost, yes: he can admit he's worthwhile. But you must keep it, like a secret, quiet and hidden, because if anyone finds out, he will die. She kisses him soft, and slow. He sighs in relief. They aren't tears of grief, that's too small: they're from the ocean sadness only swims in.

Terry Bellefleur unloads a gator head from Sam's truckbed, remarking that she's a beauty; Sam says they'll put it over the bar: "Drunks like talking to the animals." Woof! Speaking of animals, Terry pulls something horrible on a string around his neck out of his shirt: "Check it out. Possum prick!" Sam's like whoa. "Shot one last week. I was gonna stuff it, but I left it out back and it got to raining, then three days later, ain't nothing left but possum sludge and bones. I saved this, though. Possums have a two-pronged penis!" Sam's like, Oh uh-huh? "It's supposed to bring good luck." Sam claps him on the shoulder and tells him they should keep the two-pronged prick between them -- "The girls might get the wrong idea" -- and Terry puts it away. He needs all the luck he can get.