trays of barbecue, pasta salad, wings, chips, desserts, and soda bottles.
Someone had hung a banner above the fireplace.
WELCOME HOME, BABY GRACE!
My father-in-law appeared from the kitchen holding a red plastic cup.
“There she is!”
Ron Bailey was sixty-three, loud, broad-shouldered, and completely convinced that boundaries were merely suggestions invented by people who didn’t understand family.
He spread his arms wide.
“Momma’s home!”
Everyone turned.
Then applause broke out.
Grace stirred.
I flinched.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please don’t.”
Ron laughed.
“Relax. She’ll sleep through anything if you train
