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to his country to enlist, even if that might mean fighting in ’Nam. That’s more than I can say about the rest of that goddamn hippie bunch who are running off to Canada.” I stood quiet in myawkwardness, then left the room as soon as Dad looked down again.
    That night, Aunt Verdella and Uncle Rudy and Boohoo came over a few minutes before six, and I could tell that it took everything short of another yarn-wrapping for Uncle Rudy to keep Aunt Verdella from coming earlier to help. Dad wasn’t coming, of course. “He sounded tired,” Aunt Verdella said. As if that was an anomaly.
    If they noticed that the meat loaf was on the dry side, or that the skins on the potatoes were tough, they didn’t say so. Uncle Rudy ate seconds, while Aunt Verdella, who normally did, too, stuck to a bowl of salad (swimming in a sea of French dressing). “She’s gonna get skinny now,” Boohoo said. “Because she’s fat as Fred.”
    “Don’t say things like that,” I scolded. “You sound like Fanny Tilman.”
    “Well Aunt Verdella said it!”
    I gave Boohoo’s plate a turn so he’d stop dropping corn kernels on the floor, and told him to hush and eat.
    Aunt Verdella swallowed another gob of salad. “He did hear me say it, Button. Well, not the part about Fred Flintstone, but the part about being fat and needing to diet.”
    By the time we finished our ice cream, Aunt Verdella was peacock proud of herself for skipping desert. The corner of Boohoo’s mouth cranked to the side when she bragged, though. “You finished mine, Aunt Verdella. My plate stuff,
and
my bowl stuff.”
    “Just a couple of bites,” she said.
    Uncle Rudy shook his head. “All this fuss over a few pounds, Verdie.”
    “That’s not just a few, Uncle Rudy,” Boohoo said. “Twohundred is a lot!” Then Boohoo started counting. “One … two … three …”
    Aunt Verdella helped me do dishes, even though I told her she didn’t have to, and Uncle Rudy dozed in the living room. He probably would have snored until Aunt Verdella woke him to leave had Boohoo not taken a leap from the back of the couch and landed on his belly. We heard Uncle Rudy’s loud grunt. When he recovered, he shuffled into the kitchen. “Boy, I don’t know,” he said, patting his big belly. “Two good cooks on my corner now, I’ll be
twice
the size as Fred by winter. Now if you ladies don’t mind, I think I’ll head home and turn in.”
    He thanked me for the meal and gave my shoulder a pat. Aunt Verdella grabbed him to smooch his cheek. “I’ll be home after I help Button clean up,” she said.
    Boohoo started tagging Uncle Rudy to the front door. “You stay here now so your uncle Rudy can sleep,” Aunt Verdella told him.
    “But I wanna go with Uncle Rudy,” Boohoo whined.
    “Why don’t you go upstairs and look at the room I’m putting together for you? I brought toys over from Dad’s that you haven’t played with in a long time. Monkey is up there.” Monkey was the crocheted monkey Aunt Verdella made him when he was about three. The one with crocheted-on plastic eyes that were humorously cocked. Monkey had been Boohoo’s playmate and sleeping companion for a couple of years.
    Boohoo wasn’t up there but ten minutes when he came down, Monkey in hand, and said he had to run “home” to get some yarn. He asked for some leftovers to bring to Knucklehead, since the dog was “too tired” to hike over with them, then headed out the door.
    “Watch for cars,” Aunt Verdella and I called in harmony,even though we lived on a road that only saw about four vehicles in a whole day, and three of them were usually ours. “And you let Uncle Rudy have his nap,” Aunt Verdella added.
    I poured two cups of coffee and handed Aunt Verdella one. She looked down at my cup and frowned. “Oh, Button. Coffee? It’ll stunt your growth.”
    “Aunt Verdella, I’m five feet nine already. How tall do you want me to grow?”
    We had just settled into the living room when Boohoo