Dad interrupts, in a majorly
 
 rude way. No problem, L.
 
 They knew we were coming,
 
 right gang? He moves toward
 
 Leigh, who retreats slightly.
 
 Well, I’m happy to see you.
 
 Leigh’s face has gone
 
 from ivory linen to scarlet
 
 fleece, especially the tips
 
 of her ears. What took you
 
 so long, Father? Too
 
 busy to pick up the phone?
 
 I…I…I…, he stutters, his
 
 inability to respond fueled
 
 by the monster. [The monster,
 
 on a crash diet of guilt.]
 
 I don’t know what to say
 
 except I’m sorry. Forgive me?
 
 This could be fun to watch,
 
 as long as the sniping doesn’t
 
 turn into sniper fire—the battle
 
 of the Snows. “No hello for
 
 me, Dad?” I complain, adding,
 
 “Nice to meet you, Linda Sue.”
 
 Everyone turns startled eyes
 
 in my direction, as if they
 
 can’t believe I had the guts
 
 to interfere. But a broad sense
 
 of relief floods the room. No one
 
 wants a battle between the Snows.