The house hasn’t changed much over the years. A new appliance when needed. New curtains. Mostly, it’s overcrowded with comfortable non descript furniture, cooking smells, and good memories.

My mom has always been a homemaker. She’s a younger, more filled-out version of my grandma Mazur, and I think I’m cut from some of the same cloth. I have their good metabolism, oval-shaped face, and blue eyes.

My dad is retired from the post office, and now he drives a cab part-time. I get my unruly hair from his side of the family. And also my perverted cousin Vinnie.

The table was set for three when we walked in. My mom quickly added two more place settings, and in minutes, my father had his head bent over his plate, forking in meat and potatoes, and my mother was at the other end, trying not to stare at Lula’s fire-engine red hair and tiny leopard-print top that showed about a quarter of a mile of cleavage.

“Isn’t this nice,” Grandma said, looking around the table. “I love when we have guests. It’s like a party. What were you two doing in the neighborhood?” she asked me. “Were you looking for dangerous criminals?”

“We were looking for Dirk McCurdle,” I told her.

“Wasn’t that a scandal?” Grandma said. “Imagine having four wives. No one even suspected. He was such a pleasant man. I would see him at the funeral parlor when the Knights of Columbus would have a ceremony.”

“Do you have any ideas where he might be hiding?”

“Did you try all his wives?” Grandma asked. “One of them might still have a soft spot for him.”

“I have one left.”

“If that don’t work, you could try Pip’s bottle,” Grandma said.

My mother blew out a sigh, and my father murmured something that sounded like crazy old bat.

“Is that the red bottle you’re talking about?” Lula said. “The one looks like a beer bottle?”

Grandma helped herself to the mashed potatoes. “Pip swore by that bottle. He said it brought him luck.”

“How does it work?” Lula wanted to know. “Is it enough to own it? Do you gotta carry it around? Do you have to rub it like a genie bottle?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Grandma said. “I never saw Pip use it.” She looked over at me. “Didn’t it come with instructions?”

“No.”

“Bummer,” Grandma said.

“The bottle is a bunch of horse pucky,” my father said. “Pip was a nut. He didn’t know enough to come in out of the rain.”

“What about when he won $10,000 in the lottery?” Grandma asked. “How do you explain that?”

“Dumb luck,” my father said.

“Exactly!” Grandma said. “It was the lucky bottle.”

“What about taking a leak in a thunderstorm and electrocuting yourself?” my father said. “Was that lucky?”

“Probably he didn’t have the bottle with him,” Grandma said.

“What happened to my pot roast?” Lula asked.

“You ate it,” Grandma said.

Lula stared down at her plate. She looked in her lap and on the floor. “Are you sure I ate it? I don’t remember.”