After dinner we all gather in the great hall to trim the tree. If only this headache would leave me alone. I reach in my pocket, pop a Trokendi and wash it down with a gulp of coffee, then watch the little ones put the balls and tinsel on the tree. Thomas and some of the older kids are doing the upper part the younger ones can’t reach. Across from me, my mom sits on the couch with John. Ginger, who is next to him, is peppering him with probing questions, how did he meet my mother, how long have they been dating, where does he live, what did he do before he retired? He’s answering them with a genial smile while my mom listens. I can imagine the conversation Ginger will have with my uncle later once they’re alone. I’m sure there will more than a few suppositions bandied about whether my mom
