“We’ll see you inside, Evelyn,” Mema says after a minute, and shuffles us forward. She leans over my shoulder and whispers, “The key to Evy is to smile and nod and nod and smile, and while she’s jabbering, just sing the theme to Sesame Street in your head.”

Mom laughs into her collar and Mema winks. They both look nice in their satiny dresses, Mom in navy and Mema in cream. “Regal” is the word, and it’s not something we Cowans can pull off very often. I think I drag down our average with my racing stripes.

We find a spot in the back row so I can sit on the end. The sanctuary smells musty but nice, like the way, way back of the closet, and the pews creak with everybody shuffling into place. They’ve got candles up by the altar and big red poinsettias off to the side. I wonder how the pastor’s going to maneuver between it all.

“Ladies, my ladies!” Grandpa says, finally squeezing past me. Mema tsks at him for dawdling and then straightens the hankie in his jacket pocket.

“Don’t you mother me,” he growls as he moves down the line of us, and it’s not like any voice I’ve ever heard, but the choir’s humming and there’s a shuffling of hymnals and there’s no time to think about it.

Everybody starts singing “It came upon the midnight clear” with about twenty-seven more syllables than necessary. I sneak my phone out from under my leg to Google pictures of cockatoos, but Mom whips her arm out and grabs it from my hand, mouthing, “Not in church,” and I mouth, “What?” like I’m confused.

But now the song’s switched over to “O Holy Night,” and Mom leans into Mema, and Mema puts an arm over my shoulder. Even though it’s hot as Hades in here, it’s also kind of nice in the glow of the candlelight. I sing a little.

When the song ends, the pastor comes up front and the choir files out. Only one poinsettia takes a nosedive. Pastor Clark, in a brown tweed suit and a little red bow tie, looks to be eight hundred years old. But when he speaks, his voice booms.

“Turn to your neighbor, and let’s wish each other a merry night before Christ’s birth!” He claps and it’s like thunder cracking, and we all startle a bit and turn in half circles. I wheel a little backward behind the pew and hide behind Mom.

“So, Alice, you’re looking well.” It’s Lipstick Teeth, in the row in front of us, and she’s leaning too close to Mom now.

“Why, yes, you too.” I can feel Mom trying not to lean back. There’s about a hand’s width between them.

“My niece tells me you’re going to be substituting for us over at the high school.”