Sister returns with the chair. The biggest chair. The throne of all lawn chairs. The chair that takes up the most space in our riverside circle. As Wilhelm starts to sit down he looks over to her and says, “You should stop drinking the vino before noon or you’ll end up looking like all of your kind. All those Husky women with their big bellies and bannock-flat asses!” He’s the only one who laughs.

We fall into silence. Waiting for someone to speak. Hoping that it happens soon.

The sun, like Wilhelm’s cowboy hat, has slanted to the west and he is now into the grape juice with all of us. Although I am a sworn non-drinker, I’ve given up and given in. It was the only way to handle it all. The wine and the discomfort have taken on the look of a slow-moving film. I am an actress in a spaghetti western. The mountain scenery around me makes me feel like I am sitting in a postcard. The white man in a white hat talking about the stock market and giving his friend’s BMW a jump-start on the way home from his daily round of golf at the club. I sit there and think about his privilege while Sister rubs his right shoulder and tells him how kind he is.

“What a pile of crap!” I hear myself say. “What a big giant pile of entitlement! Wilhelm, you should be ashamed of yourself for even telling a story like that! Is this what your life is? Going from The Firm to The Greens and only socializing with the people in your income bracket? Really? What a stupid life!”

I hear both of my sons’ sudden intake of breath. I feel Lance grab my hand. I see the O shape that is now Sister’s mouth. I look around, raise my nearly empty wine glass and feel my body zigzag as I stand up. “To assholes everywhere! Long may they live in their gated communities. Long may they pass judgment on all of us. Fuckers!”

Lance takes my arm, “Come on, Mom, you’ve had enough,” he says evenly. “I’ll take you back to the trailer.”

“No, Middle One. I’m staying right here. I want to know what Wilhelm would like to toast to.” I turn to Wilhelm. “Say, Will, what do you have to toast to? Rising stocks? More disparity for the marginalized? The size of your tiny white cock? What would you like to toast next?”

Sister takes my other arm. “Now, let’s do as Lance says—let’s go for a short nap!” I grin at her, knowing that tone of voice that made me do the things I was afraid of as a kid. That was the voice that got me to jump gullies, to steal nickel candy from Fuzzies corner store, to tell lies to our mother. I knew that voice tone always ended in trouble.