There were no mourners. “I never planned it—And now I have begun—” She felt acutely that he was entitled to explanations, and as acutely that explanations were impossible that night. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. But whenever the storm grew dangerous, either McClintock or Spurlock broke into saving laughter. 255 “You have a very talented son,” was her opening line. She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment. She made noises between weeping and laughter as she went.
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