This question raised a good number of conflicting emotions in Jane. Though Shelley was normally the most calm, refined individual in the world, something about getting behind the steering wheel of a car brought out a savage, competitive streak in her. On the other hand, Jane didn't think her muffler would stick with her all the way to O'Hare, and she had an awful suspicion that the kids had left McDonald's wrappers and other trash in the backseat, where Phyllis would have to ride. Of course, Phyllis Wagner was so down-to-earth that she probably wouldn't think of a thing about it. The deciding factor was really the afghan

“Why don't you drive so I can crochet?" Jane said after a moment of consideration. "I've lied to Fiona. I told her I've finished it already and have just forgotten to bring it over. I've got to get the damned thing done."

“Can you crochet and ride?"

“With you? I'd rather crochet than watch." Jane went into the living room and grabbed a big yellow plastic bag that contained the afghanin-progress.

Shelley followed her. "Why don't you have a tree up yet?"

“I'll get one in a day or two. You could at least notice and appreciate all those boxes in the corner. Those are the Christmas decorations, fresh from the basement and ready to go up whenever I have a spare day or two.”

True to form, Shelley made a spectacularly belligerent entry onto the main road at the bottom of their street. Jane didn't even look up from the snarl of red, green, and white yarn in her lap. She just leaned with the motion of the minivan and went on muttering, "Triple, triple, triple, single. Triple, triple, triple, single, single. Triple—"

“Hold it, Jane. You just did two singles," Shelley said.

“I was turning a corner."

“I suppose that makes sense. What I don't understand is why you have to walk your way through crocheting."

“For the simple reason that I'm not very good at it. Saying the stitches out loud is the only way I can keep track of where I am and what I'm doing.”