My parents stood behind the house. My mother’s waist-length hair was bound into a ponytail, but my father let his curls tumble down to the middle of his back. Dad looped a narrow arm around Mom’s shoulders.

Mom said, “If it’s a boy, we’ll call him Jesse Bishop, after my grandfathers.”

“What about a girl?”

“I want something beautiful. Something that shines like the sun and glitters like a jewel.” Mom gazed out over her garden.

“Jewel?”

“No. I also want it to be down to earth.” She looked harder at the garden.

“Eartha.”

“There’s only one Eartha Kitt.”

“What then?”… Read the rest