“Goddamn it,” Dad yelled from the den, where he was probably tired of listening to Wavy’s mime-show argument. “Why not take her back tomorrow?”

“Because I don’t take orders from her.”

“Take her back tonight for all I care. Christ. I’m trying to work.”

Wavy slammed her hand on the table to bring Mom’s attention back to her.

“Don’t you act that way toward me, young lady.”

For a minute, she and Mom glared at each other. Then Wavy walked over and picked up the phone. I’d never seen her use one before, but she started dialing.

“Who are you calling?” Mom said.

“Kellen.”

“I don’t think so. You’re a guest here and you’ll go back when I say so.”

Mom came around the table and disconnected the call. From the look on Wavy’s face, I expected violence, but she won the argument with four words: “Guest? More like prisoner.”

In the morning, Mom packed us all in the car, even Leslie, who whined about it.

“Why do I have to go?” she said.

“We’re all going to drive up and spend Wavy’s birthday with your Aunt Val. Won’t that be nice? Happy birthday, Wavy.” Mom was so mad she looked like flames were going to shoot off her head.

“Why doesn’t Dad have to go?” Leslie said.

“Your father has to work. Do you have a job? No. You spent all summer at the pool, flirting with lifeguards. So shut up!”

Wavy and Donal didn’t seem fazed by Mom yelling, which made me wonder what they were used to, that he could go on happily playing with his cars in the front seat, while Mom blew a gasket.

The whipped cream on Mom’s shit sundae was that Wavy tricked her.

As we drove through Powell on our way to the farm, Wavy leaned forward and pointed for a turn.

“That’s not the way to the house, is it?” Mom said.

Wavy pointed for the turn again. Mom took it and drove down the street until Wavy said, “Here.”

“Cutcheon’s Small Engine? What’s that?”

“That’s where Kellen works.” Donal started to open his door, but Wavy stopped him.

“Now, look,” Mom said. “I’m dropping both of you off at home. I’m not leaving you here.”

Wavy slid her hand down my arm and was out of the car before Mom could drive off.

“Wavy!” Mom shouted as the door slammed. She scowled as Wavy walked toward the garage, but what could she do? Run after Wavy and force her into the car? After a minute, she drove off.

The cherry on Mom’s shit sundae was that when we got to the farmhouse, nobody was there. The back door was unlocked and dirty dishes were piled in the sink. Beer bottles and a full ashtray sat on the coffee table in the living room, next to a bunch of burned pieces of tin foil.

“It’s okay,” Donal said, when he saw the look on Mom’s face. “You can take me down to the ranch. That’s where I sleep anyway.”

“You don’t sleep up here?”

Donal gave Wavy’s it-is-what-it-is shrug.

The ranch looked like an armed compound you might see on the news. White supremacists or a religious cult. Past the gate stood two metal garages, and off in the trees a big metal barn. Clustered up by the road were four trailers, one with a deck on the front. Sitting on the deck, smoking, was a life-sized Barbie doll.

Donal jumped out of the car and ran to hug her. Then he took off toward the garages. The Barbie doll came down the porch, cigarette in her hand and said, “Hey, are you Donal’s auntie? And his cousins? I’m Sandy.”

We waited for an explanation of who Sandy was but she didn’t offer one.

“Do you want to come in for a drink or something?”

“Do you know where Valerie is?” Mom said.

Sandy was the prettiest sad woman I’d ever seen, and for a second, she frowned, more sad than pretty. “No, but she’ll be back later if you want to wait.”

“It’s okay to leave Donal here, with you?”

“Sure, hon. I’ll get him a snack here in a while. Did Wavy come back with you?”

Mom didn’t answer, so I said, “She’s at Kellen’s.”

Sandy was pretty again, smiling.

“Oh, he’ll be glad to see her. They’re so sweet to each other. Yesterday he took a big cooler full of ice and drove over to Garringer. They have a Baskin Robbins there, and he bought her a scoop of every flavor of ice cream they have. You know, for her birthday. Isn’t that the sweetest thing? Sure you don’t wanna stop for a drink? Donal could show you his little motorbike. He’s so cute on it.”

“No,” Mom said. She didn’t even wait to say good-bye to Donal.

An hour into the drive home Mom turned down the radio we’d turned up to avoid talking, and said, “How do you think Wavy seemed?”

My sister glared. Like the girl who stole her lifeguard, that’s how she seemed to Leslie.

“Happy,” I said.

“She didn’t seem hostile to you?”

“Only because you wanted her to stay for her birthday.”

“Oh, good grief. Would it be so terrible to spend her birthday with us?”

“She wanted to spend her birthday with Kellen. He bought her a lot of ice cream.” I laughed at the thought of her eating thirty-one scoops of ice cream, but nobody else did.

“I thought she’d outgrow having a crush on him. Some big, dumb motorcycle hooligan. And that filthy tattoo on his arm. I mean, do you girls think he’s cute?”