When Big Phyllis died, Lynn decided that, while flowers were nice and there was certain to be spray after spray from the Republican Women and the Daughters of the Confederacy and any number of other organizations to which Big Phyllis had offered her considerable talents and opinions, what the grave overlooking the bluff in Bonaventure Cemetery really needed was some water from Eagle Creek. I don’t remember that I’ve ever said no to one of Lynn’s ideas, so as soon as the funeral was over, she — Lynn, that is, not Big Phyllis (though if anyone could survive her own funeral that force of nature could) — and I headed to the drainage ditch that had been endowed with magical powers by nothing more than the words of another force of nature. My theory is that one of the reasons Erk and Big Phyllis were such good friends is that neither one of them never gave much credence to the odds or put much faith in the pundits.