I want to say no. I hate it when people have to push me. But I also really want to see the cockatoos. I show her how to tip me back a little so it’s easier to push, and we move on down the road. When we get to her gate, which hangs crooked by one rusty hinge, she leans over to look at the new spoke guards.

“Cool hypno-wheels,” she says.

Coralee was not kidding about the cockatoos. It’s like rolling into the parakeet cage at PetSmart. There must be eight or ten of them flying around the ceiling and hopping from couch to chair to table. With their white bodies and spiky feathers on their heads, they look like little punk rockers. Loud ones.

Coralee’s grandpa Dane waves us in from his spot in an easy chair in front of the TV. Apart from the cockatoos, their trailer is laid out exactly like ours, one long shoebox. But they have towels on the backs of all the furniture. I look around and don’t see any cages. I wonder if the birds are house-trained. And then I look closer at the towels and figure it out for myself.

Dane has a walker propped next to him, and that one piece of medical equipment makes me feel right at home. He shakes my hand and then pats the walker.

“I’ve got a bad leg.”

“I’ve got two,” I say.

He laughs a laugh that turns into a cough, and Susie comes in.

“What’d I miss, y’all?” she says. She holds a tray of sliced salami and crackers in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The cockatoos go nuts when they see the crackers, and she has to wave them off with her cigarette hand. The smoke hits me in a wave, and I swallow hard and look at the ceiling. It has yellow stains around the edges. Mom would kill me if she knew. Smoke’s bad for my lungs. But then again, it’s bad for everybody’s, so what’s a couple of hours?

Susie, Coralee explained on the way over, isn’t actually her grandmother. But she’s been around long enough, she might as well be. Susie has big blond hair just like Coralee’s.

“Hi, sweet thing. Don’t you mind these birds, now. Just swat a hand at them and they’ll get out of your way.”

“But they can smell fear,” Dane says from the easy chair.

“Hush now. Don’t tease her.” Susie pats my hand. “You’ll be just fine. But we’ll keep Daisy in the back, just in case. Don’t want her knocking into you. She’s a fifty-pounder who thinks she’s a lapdog.”

“Susie, put those crackers away. Ellie’s brought fancy food,” Coralee says, and pops the lid off the cookie tin. Powdered sugar rises out like a cloud.