“Animals all fed and watered and accounted for. I borrowed an extra nightlight from Christine so we don’t step on any kittens in the dark.”

“Good thinking.”

“And my dad’s madly in love with the LED lights on his new bed and toilet. He’s ramped up his Christmas TV request to a 90-inch. And Billy and Michael were useless. Basically, they just hung around and left as soon as the beer was gone.”

“How did it go with Johnny? Did he tell everybody what’s going on?”

“Nope. When Christine and I left, he was still pouting away in his hemp hat. Maybe after a cozy night’s sleep in the trailer, he’ll be ready to talk. I mean, nothing in my family ever stays a secret for long.”

John rolled over, pulled up the covers. “He’s not out in the trailer. I passed him on the way in here. He’s curled up on the living room couch with a pile of throw pillows under his head and an afghan pulled up to his chin.”

“Great,” I said. “Do you think I can pretend you didn’t tell me that? Just until tomorrow. Then I’ll be all over that, too.”

“Why not?” John said. A minute later he was snoring softly.

I tossed and I turned. Slowly, just in case any kittens had managed to scale the mattress.

It wasn’t my job to worry about Johnny. If he wanted to sleep on the couch, he was a grownup and he could sleep on the couch. Back when Kevin and I had broken up, I could have been sleeping in the streets for all my brother Johnny knew. For all he cared.

I took out my hurt feelings and polished them until they were shiny and pathetic. Once you get going on something like that, it’s kind of like picking a scab, or trying to eat the proverbial one potato chip. So I kept it up, sifting through half-forgotten memories, binging on old injuries.

I went over the entire ancient history timeline of my relationship with my brother Johnny. When we were little kids, he was actually pretty mean to me. When I thought about it, I could distinctly remember him making fun of me in front of his friends. Once, he pointed out my new pimple to the entire school bus. He called me ugly to my face. Other than that, he ignored me, the biggest hurt of all.

Once I became a relatively mature adult, I’d mostly forgotten about all that old stuff. But my brother Johnny and I never really talked. Because there were six of us, we had the luxury of spinning off into subgroups. Little cliques formed and reformed, with some of us temporarily included and others left out. There was a well-established family grapevine, so even if you didn’t hear it from the horse’s mouth, you still eventually heard everything.