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busier than a one-legged man in a butt-kickin’ contest, but he leaves you to answer the telephone. Men-folk just have no idea the work that goes into a meal like that. And there you were, so busy, but you took the time to visit with me.”
    “Aunt Clara, I always have time to visit with you. Besides, you know me. Gab, gab, gab. I can mix stuffing and talk at the same time.”
    “Sure, but you don’t do much of a job of coverin’ up that you’re all topsy-turvy inside, now do ya?”
    Excuse me? I did an exceptional job of pulling the wool over the eyes of Mike’s mom and sister that day.
    “Doesn’t it hurt your head, Aunt Clara?” I ask, laughing.
    “What’re you talking about, young lady?” She’s trying to be stern, but there’s a smile peeking out of her thin lips.
    “Knowing what everybody else is thinking, and how they’re feeling?”
    “I reckon it does hurt some people. You live a couple hundred years like me, and you start pickin’ up on things. Some people ain’t as tough as me, so they pretend they don’t know what’s goin’ on. That’s what they call Alzheimer’s.”
    She has me in stitches. “You think Alzheimer’s is a ruse the old folks use to pretend they don’t know what’s going on? Why?” This has to be good.
    “Folks with Alzheimer’s get taken care of by younger people. They got the easy life. Store your cottage cheese in your linen closet just once, and your kids order you Meals-on-Wheels.”
    She’s serious, which cracks me up even more. I really don’t know how many of her crazy theories she believes, but Clara has plenty of them. She still professes that no one has ever been to the moon–it’s all a show put on by the government. Name a conspiracy theory, and she can give evidence to support it. If she had a website, she’d have an enormous following. “Now quit tryin’ to change the subject, girl. What’s got you out of sorts?”
    I’d really rather visit and avoid this topic. It’s easier to ignore it, right? Her beady little eyes are trained on me as if she’s reading my mind. When I look away, she bossily clears her throat, ending my attempted reticence.
    “This would be just between us, right? Because I can’t have it around town.”
    She bobs her head impatiently. Right, her confidence is every bit as sacred as that of a priest.
    “If a man was to, uh, stray, and it was a one-time thing, do you think it’s possible to get over it? Do you think it’s forgivable?” There, it’s out, and no doubt she’ll know I’m talking about my own marriage.
    “I think you oughtta take a lesson from the black widda spider,” she says matter-of-factly.
    I choke on a cookie, blowing crumbs against my palm. “Aunt Clara, the female black widow eats the male after they mate!”
    “Aww, it was a man who made that story up. The truth is, the female only kills him if she can smell that he’s been with another female.”
    Oh, that’s so much better. “So, you think we should kill a man if he cheats?”
    “Nah, just know this–sooner or later, he’s gonna run into a nasty spider of a woman if he keeps foolin’ around in dark corners, but it’s time to kick him outta your nest. Let the other female kill him when she finds him cheatin’ on her.”
    Hmm. “What you’re saying is that if he’s cheated once, he will again, and the one he strays with will find that out on her own?” When she nods, I have to carry on the what-if game. “But what if it really is only one time?” Why am I even asking? Mike was on his way to doing it a second time only two days after the first. Maybe getting some strange is addictive.
    “You don’t believe that, child.”
    I rub my eyes, aggravated she saw through me.
    She’s put her arms akimbo and is staring me down. “You want Benjamin to grow up thinkin’ it’s okay to do that?” No! “You want Rachel to think she has to put up with it?”
    My stomach tightens. Now I have guilt if I leave Mike, and guilt if I