"I knew," she said.
The front door of the Rourke house opened, and Peg Rourke leaned out into the cold. She was a small woman in a pink quilted housecoat with a cigarette in one hand and the receiver of a wall phone in the other, its long coiled cord stretched to the absolute limit of its patience, pulling a straight line back across the front hall to the kitchen.
"Danny! It's your aunt Bernie, long distance, she wants to know if you're bringing the card table." She saw Lena and her whole face changed. "Oh, honey. Lena. Look at you. You're going to catch your death, where's your coat?"
"Hi, Mrs. Rourke."
"Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Tell your mother—" Peg stopped and seemed to reconsider what Lena should tell her mother. "Tell her Merry Christmas."
"I will."
"Danny, it's long distance!"
"I'm coming, Ma."