“You weren’t there, Karen,” he said, “she tried to kill me.” He would be Todd, from Boston.
Todd and Karen, my sister in law, were newly married, and at that precise moment were in the midst of a heated discussion in a tiny bathroom in a typical OKC home. Todd was balancing himself on the toilet, not using it, but had shimmied onto the seat to close the window in the event Karen’s family, my family, a bunch of lunatics, had escaped the asylum and could hear him from the yard. He feared they were closing in on all sides. They’d retreated to that tiny nook in the house because it was the only door with a lock. Todd was scared out of his wits.
