Merilee raised her arm, and for a split second, I thought she was actually going to strike her mother. But then she swiveled toward me. “C’mon!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me up sharply. I barely managed to set the Hi-C on the coffee table without spilling before she yanked me out the door. Back down the heart and spade carpeted hallway we went, my mother pulling me by the wrist, past the ping pong table and vending machines, the screaming splashing kids and their mothers, and out the pool’s iron gates.

Merilee collapsed, sobbing into the driver’s seat of the Mercedes, mascara leaking between her fingers. “Fucking drunk!” She emitted a low scream and threw herself against the steering wheel, honking the horn which made her pop back up.

I climbed into my side. My heart raced, the seat was burning, and I still had to pee. “Let’s just go.” I prodded her arm to start the car.

My mother stared at me as if she were struggling to interpret what I had said. Then she pulled herself up to the rearview mirror. “I look like shit!” She yanked open her purse and began angrily reapplying her makeup. She dipped one finger in a pot of gingery gloss and hammered her lips. “Now do you understand why we don’t visit?”

I didn’t. I was mad. I thought Marva was nice and kind of interesting. She had seemed interested in me which I found very appealing. And she hadn’t seemed drunk. At least not the way I’d seen my mother. But I didn’t want to fight and my bladder was killing me and I was dying from the heat. “I understand, okay? Let’s go.”

Merilee wound her kerchief around her head and turned the key in the ignition. As the car lurched backward, I heard a gate clang shut.

“Wait!” Marva ran alongside the car, waving her long arms.

“Mom stop!” I yelled.

Merilee screeched the car to a halt. “Christ!”

Panting, Marva held on to the door of the Mercedes and motioned with one hand for us to wait while she caught her breath.

“Merry Christmas, Sugar Pop,” she wheezed, handing me a small package wrapped in holiday paper. She tossed another one onto the seat next to my mother, who stared straight ahead.

“Okay then.” With a shoo-fly gesture, Marva waved us off.

Back on the highway, my mother sobbed and smoked while I considered the gift in my lap. It was lumpy, wrapped in gold and red paper illustrated with angels and baby Jesuses. My fingers crumpled along the outlines of the package trying to get a clue as to its contents. I definitely hadn’t expected a Christmas present in February. I felt lopsided. We should have brought flowers. I could have made a Valentine card.