“Go ahead,” I said. “Answer it. We’re just about done in here anyway.”

She gave her pillow a punch, threw it on the bed.

“That’s okay,” she said. “I can call back later.”

Christine was sitting at the kitchen table, eating another hunk of my turkey. She was also drinking a glass of what my father called John’s fancy pants wine.

“Help yourself,” I said.

“Thanks,” she said. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Since Christine had already opened the bottle, I figured I might as well pour my own glass.

“Sorry about Polly,” Christine said. “Do you want me to go upstairs and apologize?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think she needs the drama. Just be nice to her from now on, okay?”

Christine nodded, took another sip of wine.

I tried swirling the wine around in my glass like they did in the movies. It crashed over the side like a wave at high tide and landed in a puddle on my jeans. I rubbed it in even though it was red wine, tried to remember if we had any stain stick in the laundry room.

“Graceful,” Christine said.

“Thank you,” I said. “I work hard at it.”

“Do you think Carol’s right about Dad and Polly?”

“Of course not,” I said. “You know Dad—he pretty much flirts with every female he comes across. And Polly is just trying to survive right now. Plus, she’s pregnant. And our age.”

“Here’s to Carol not knowing what she’s talking about.” Christine clinked her glass to mine. “I love it when she’s wrong.”

Apparently Johnny’s hippie backpack had only made it as far as the kitchen door. After Christine and I finished our wine, I hoisted it up and slung it over one shoulder.

“Jeez Louise,” I said as we walked across the yard. “This thing weighs a ton and a half.”

Two women of indeterminate age were loitering outside the trailer. Maybe they’d seen Pink stuck into the ground and taken it as an invitation. The women were illuminated by tiny white lights strung above the entrance to the trailer. It would have been nice if someone had taken the decorating bull by the horns and they were Christmas lights. But as far as I could tell the lights had come with the trailer, and the trailer had been in the yard since the end of summer, making the lights officially multi-seasonal.

The two women were eyeing each other. They were both holding casseroles.

“Have you seen Billy?” one of them yelled. “I have a little something I want to drop off for him.” She held up the casserole. “Shepherd’s pie made with Thanksgiving leftovers.”

The other woman held up her casserole. “Seafood lasagna.” Take that, the tone of her voice implied.