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out.
    Doomed. Doomed the second that word passed my lips. The Lord had not risen so that Claire Maloney could say “dammit” over a chocolate rabbit.
    Which is why I had to sit out the Easter egg hunt and donate my beloved basket, chocolate rabbit and pink poodle and all, to the McClendon children of Steckem Road. And I had to go there, too, with Mama and Aunt Dockey and the other ladies, on Easter afternoon, to see why I should be humble.
    The McClendon place reminded me of Sullivan’s Hollow, with paper trash littering a bare-earth yard shared by a half circle of tiny, dilapidated houses and rust-streaked trailers. There were no flowers and no shrubs, and the forest cast long shadows on two ancient sedans with bald tires and duct tape plastered over their broken windows. Skinny dogs crept around, shy and standoffish, like the children. The porches sagged with junk. Edna Fae’s latest husband was stretched out on a couch under a tree. His mouth was open. He snored. His shirt was unbuttoned and he had one hand jammed down the front of his jeans.
    “May the Lord bless us for our bounty and help us help those who cannot help themselves,” Aunt Dockey said as she pulled up the parking brake of her Cadillac.
    “Amen,” Mama said.
    “Please wash this place clean of sin,” intoned Sarah Kehoe, Mama’s first cousin, from the backseat.
    “And please punish men who have ten dollars to waste,” added Mama’s older sister, Irene.
    “That’s all it costs Pete each time?” asked Ruby O’Brien, Daddy’s cousin-in-law. I adored Cousin Ruby. She ran a dress shop and let her children draw on their bedroom walls. She was a little flighty and always blurted good questions in front of us kids.
    “Let’s change the subject,” Mama said, glaring atRuby. “Claire, you stay by the car. Hand out a few eggs if you want to. We’ll get the Easter baskets out of the trunk after we’re done inside.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” I was relieved. I wouldn’t have to go into one of those foul-looking houses with them. Wouldn’t have to sit in a prayer circle.
    “Talk to those kids about Jesus,” Aunt Dockey told me. “And make them say ‘Please’ and ‘Thank you’ for the Easter eggs. Teach them some manners.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    We got out, and the ladies made a fuss over the rag-tail boys and girls, who shuffled their feet and didn’t answer but darted excited glances at me in my ruffled pink splendor and at the basket of Easter eggs I lugged from the backseat. I was glad I hadn’t worn my hat. I suddenly felt embarrassed, and depressed, and a little foolish.
    Edna Fae and Lula and Sally strolled out to meet us. They were dressed in tight jeans and tight low-cut blouses, with lots of makeup on their faces. Sally had already been inducted into the McClendon big-bleached-hair club, and she had the kind of body that looked like ripe cantaloupes were stuffed in a thin paper sack. Edna Fae and Lula were intermediate versions of Daisy and Sally. Together the four of them would make a Dorian Gray gallery—Daisy’s tough, worn, cemented sensuality, Edna Fae’s and Lula’s fading freshness, and Sally—I knew exactly what Sally would look like eventually, after too much hard living had sucked the juice out of her.
    I was so busy staring, I nearly dropped my basket of Easter eggs. “Well, ain’t you pretty?” Sally said to me in a sly, boisterous way. She leaned too close to me and grabbed a handful of my long hair and stroked her fingers through the curls, all the while staring into my face. “You look just like a strawberry shortcake with blue eyes. Them eyes. Bright as sapphires. You just take in the whole world with them eyes, don’t you? What you thinkin’, little queen?”
    I was thinking, You mess with my hair again and I’llgive you a tittie twister, but I was already on thin ice with Mama, so I kept quiet.
    Besides, Mama sidled over and got between us. Polite but cool as a little brown-haired lioness in a mauve