All three of them started clapping.

Christine burst out laughing.

“Find some new material, you guys.” I let Johnny’s backpack fall to the floor. “That joke wasn’t funny the first time I heard it, like a century or so ago.”

“So what’s up?” Christine said. “Are we interrupting anything good?”

Billy Jr. took a gulp of his beer, burped. “Just shootin’ the shit.”

Michael took a gulp of his beer, burped louder. “Yeah, you know. How about those Patriots and all that.”

Johnny stared straight ahead.

By the looks of things, my brothers would be sitting here all night, or at least until they were out of beer and burps, without even touching on why Johnny was impersonating a hippie, not to mention why he’d left home in the first place.

I had a couple options. I could turn around and walk out the door. Leave Christine in charge. But then, in all fairness, I should go back upstairs and offer to help John and Joe demolish walls again. And the truth was that the bloom was off the renovation rose. From now on, I’d stick to watching home improvement shows on TV.

I could call my sister Carol. But then I’d have to wait for her to drive over here. It was getting late. I was tired. Even a mattress on the floor of the cat room was starting to sound good to me.

Before I had time to make a decision, my father opened the trailer door and stuck his head in. In my family, when one person showed up somewhere, another was sure to follow, as if there was some natural law of synchronicity. I should have asked him what took him so long.

But of course, my dad had his own opening line. “I have the distinct impression that my very own family is smack-dab in the middle of a party to which I was not invited.”

“Yeah,” Billy Jr. said. “Looks like you caught us in the act.” He took another sip of his beer. “Long time no see. How’s it going since yesterday, Dad?”

“Can’t complain. Can’t complain at all, Billy Boy. I was just pulling the ice cream truck into the driveway, happened to notice the extra cars in the nick of time to hit the brakes.”

Our dad watched as Johnny took a long, sad sip of beer. “Hey, what’s your tale, nightingale?”

Johnny didn’t say a word.

My father disappeared out the trailer door for a minute. He came back with Pink hoisted over his head, dirt from her metal stake sprinkling the trailer floor.

“Pack up, kiddos,” our dad said. “This shindig is moving up in the world and over to my man cavern. Just follow the pink flamingo.”