The very next day, at 9:00 a.m., my mother-in-law, Carroll Rice, drove up in her new Chevy Impala. She was dressed in baby blue: ironed slacks, matching blue sweater with shoulder pads in it. Her white-blond hair had even taken on a bluish cast. Still in Craig’s pajamas, I watched her through the window, my belly pressing against the glass, as she got out of the car, primly brushing imaginary crumbs from her bust, and walked around to the other side. The passenger door opened with ominous slowness; I saw one hand grip the side of the doorframe. A dark head appeared, then swung out of view. A moment passed. Suddenly, an enormous woman heaved herself out of the low car and unfolded herself with difficulty. She must have been six feet tall. Short, dark hair, athletic build. Breasts the size of watermelons. Carroll came up to her shoulder. The two of them strode up to the house. Carroll opened the door with a perfunctory knock, calling out “Daphne!” in her high, singsong voice.

“Hi, Carroll,” I said. My underarms were sweating, my teeth were unbrushed, my hair was snarled. Carroll looked me up and down and sighed. She’d had six kids and I doubt she’d let herself look like this for one single morning.

“Honey, this is Nat. She is going to get your life in order.”

The Enormous Woman towered over me. Her eyes were a light piercing green; her massive chin seemed clamped onto the rest of her face by a fierce underbite. She was wearing a vast sweatsuit the color of concrete. “I hear you need a little help with the house,” she said.

“Well,” I said. “I—I … think I do. We just thought we’d try…”

“You sit tight, honey,” Nat said. “You don’t look too good. I’m a trained nurse, so calm down.” I sat.

Carroll looked at me smugly. “I am so glad you finally let me help you,” she whispered.

Nat made us both tea, then set about cleaning the kitchen, whistling loudly, with vibrato. After a while, she thundered upstairs and turned the radio on. I never even showed her around the house. She figured it all out for herself.

Later, drying myself off from my shower, I could hear the sermon she was listening to on the radio. A man’s voice was saying, “But the question is not what you need. The question is: What does Jesus need? And the answer is easy—because the answer is always the same: Jesus needs your love.” By the time I emerged from my room, Nat had found a place for everything in the house. Anything that could fit inside another thing got crammed in there. It didn’t matter if it made no sense. She put hair elastics inside egg cups. Magic Markers in the salad bowl. The place looked immaculate, but a lot of things went missing.