DEACON
"Gram, that was the best fried chicken you've ever made. I don't know how you manage to top yourself week after week."
My grandmother shot me a skeptical glance as I passed by her, clearing the table after dinner. At the sink, Pop snickered.
"The both of you are full of blarney." Gram eased back her chair slightly and folded her arms over her chest. "One of you is worse than the other."
"It was all that early training I gave you." Pop elbowed me in the ribs when I set down a pile of plates. "You make me proud, Deacon."
"And the two of you give me a headache," Gram grumbled. "These are the days when I wish I had a granddaughter who might take my side on occasion. Or at least I wish there was another woman in the family who would commiserate with me." She leveled a particularl
