Aunt Caroline sat in one of the kitchen chairs. "Water, please. Lime if you have it."

"I do. It's Corona season and Jeff likes lime in his beer."

As I cut up a lime, Aunt Caroline said, "He's still hanging around, is he? How's he coping with the sister—the one who's, well, you know."

"The one who has Down syndrome? Doris is a delight. Matter of fact, she and Jeff are coming for dinner tonight." I plopped lime wedges into two glasses of ice water and brought them to the table.

"You're cooking? My word, the earth has tilted a bit more on its axis." She gulped greedily at the water.

I lifted my chin. "Yes, I am cooking. I do know how." Actually we were ordering pizza and watching one of Doris's favorite DVDs, Finding Nemo. Movies and pizza had become our Friday night ritual. Jeff didn't make it half the time because of his job, but Doris's caretaker, Loreen, would sometimes join us.

"You should know how to cook," Aunt Caroline said. "Chef Ramone cost us a pretty penny for those lessons. But as I recall, he said you'd rather play with the food than learn the basics of preparation."

"I was twelve, Aunt Caroline. I still played with my G.I. Joes, too. I wasn't the only one in the family who enjoyed boy toys."

Damn. Sarcastic relapse. I hate when that happens.

Aunt Caroline's face became infused with color. She'd given up face-lifts for injections from her dermatologist— all kinds of procedures to smooth the wrinkles she'd earned after seventy-plus years on earth. But they only made her look like a doll with a plastic face and I was surprised there was actually a blood supply to the surface.