If my uncle hadn’t become wealthy on a grand scale, he had done well—way better than anyone else remotely connected to my family. When the stockyards left Chicago in the sixties, Peter had followed Ashland Meats to Kansas City. By the time my dad died, in 1982, Ashland was a five-hundred-million-dollar concern, and Peter was a senior officer. I’d always been a little bitter that he didn’t do anything to help out with my dad’s medical bills when Tony was dying, but, as I’d just explained to Petra, Tony of course was essentially a stranger to him.

It seemed unbelievable to look at this twenty-something kid and realize she and I shared a grandmother. “I didn’t know Krumas’s son wanted to run for office. What are you doing for him with the primary still ten months away?”

Her phone rang again. This time, she answered with a quick, “I’m busy, I’m with my cousin, I’ll call you later!”

She turned back to me. “Sorry, my roomie wants to know how I am. Kelsey, my college roommate, I mean. In my new place here I’m on my own, which feels really weird after sharing a sorority house and a tent and everything with Kelsey for four years. She’s back in Raleigh, and she’s bored to death after going all over Africa and Australia.

“What were you saying? Oh, what am I doing for the campaign? I don’t know. They don’t even know! I showed up to work yesterday for the first time, and they asked me what I was good at. And I said, being energetic, which I am, totally. And I majored in communications and Spanish, so they thought maybe I’d do something in the pressroom. But, right now, it’s pretty much just wandering around, seeing who’s where, and running out to the corner to get people fancy coffee drinks. They could save a bundle of money by buying a cappuccino machine for the office, but I like the excuse to be outdoors.”

“What kind of platform is Krumas running on?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” Petra widened her eyes in mock embarrassment. “I think he’s green—at least, I hope he is—and I guess he’s against the war in Iraq … And he’s good for Illinois!”

“Sounds like a winner.” I grinned at her.

“He is, he is, especially in his tennis shorts. Women my mom’s age get weak in the knees when they see him. Like, my folks took him out for dinner when he came to Kansas City last year, and all the ladies at the country club sashayed over and practically stroked him.”