“I get why she’d be resentful,” I said. “Brett left them. He wasn’t very present on the best of days. But she just found out her dad was murdered. I kind of expected to see more grief.”

As she minced carrots with uniform knife cuts, Mom said, “Crissy was old enough to have his number, that’s all. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but . . . well, the man made his bed. That’s all I’ll say about it.”

Dad gave a nod. “I confess that when Brett left, I bid good riddance to both the man and his shortcomings. I suppose Crissy did the same. It wasn’t just his parenting that was an issue, darling. You were young, probably too young to remember much. Brett hardly earned enough to support his wife and family, but more than that, he skimmed off the top of their shared bank account to feed a gambling habit and keep himself in Natty Light.” Dad took a swig of his own beer and floured the dough. “After he and Felicia split—they never divorced, mind you, didn’t have the savings for that—your aunt expected him to help support the kids. Brett gave her money when he could, but his contribution was minimal. Felicia’s job as a shop clerk didn’t earn her enough to manage on her own, and her health was an ever-present problem.”

“She had trouble sleeping,” added Mom. “She didn’t always make it to work. And when she needed money, there was none, thanks to Brett. Those were painful years for your aunt. I often got calls from her in the middle of the night. She’d drop the kids here because she knew they’d be safe. It was the only way she could squeeze in a few hours of rest.”

Snatches of giggles. Sleeping bags and fuzzy striped afghans strewn across the living room floor. “I remember,” I said.

Dad scratched his chin, leaving behind a stripe of flour. “Your mother was always helping out, and thank God for that. The only way to ensure the children got their baths and homework done was to bring them here. But Crissy made it difficult. She could be a right git sometimes, but later, after Brett moved out of the house and into his apartment, the girl went stark mad. The truancy, the drugs—and so young! We all knew what she was up to; she made little effort to hide it. We were concerned her behavior would send you and Doug off course as well.”

“Your father did try to reason with her,” said Mom.

“Not that it did much good. Eventually, your mother stopped asking Crissy over. What else could we do?”

My mother said, “Brett set a bad example, for what it’s worth. While Crissy was out tearing up the town, her dad was doing the same thing. I’m surprised they didn’t cross paths at a party somewhere. Who knows, maybe they did.” She sighed deeply. “Crissy was furious with him for moving out, though. I do know that.”