The two people I loved best in the world were my Grandmamma and my cousin Tommy. I grew up in the mountains, way past what most people would call civilization. My old elementary school had eight or ten boys and girls per grade, sometimes pooling two grades together for lack of teachers. It was small and sometimes lonely but it was home. Tommy and me got into a real competition over that snipe-bird. “I’m gonna catch one,” Tommy said, tall and smug and brash, “you’re just gonna get scared and run inside and cry on somebody’s skirts.” “Cold?” Tommy asked, taking some measure of pity on me.