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cocktail party while I’m busting my butt searching for a nonexistent war toy.” The line moved up and Trudy followed, praying she wouldn’t drop the Mac box. There’d be a bloodbath if she did. “I’m all for you getting out and playing well with others, but it’s Christmas Eve and you should be home with your family, baking something, not looking for your second husband. I’m sure Stanford Trudeau is a lovely man with an excellent retirement portfolio, but—”
    â€œI’m baking gingerbread men and a gingerbread house right now, and Stanford Trudeau is five. It was Leroy’s playgroup’s Christmas party. And that woman mocked me.”
    Trudy took a deep breath and reminded herself that Courtney had troubles. “Okay, so now you can tell her he has his own last year’s doll. I’m getting ready to buy it right now.”
    â€œLast year’s is not good enough!” Courtney said, her voice rising.
    â€œOh, get a grip. This one is a collector’s item. It has a hand grenade.”
    â€œAnd a gun,” Nolan said from too close behind her, obviously listening in.
    â€œAnd a gun,” Trudy told Courtney as she ignored Nolan.
    â€œWho said that?” Courtney said. “Who’s with you?”
    â€œNolan.”
    â€œNolan.” Courtney sounded confused and then she said, “Nolan Mitchell. The Chinese lit prof with the swivel hips you thought was going to be The One?”
    â€œYes,” Trudy said, cursing her sister’s excellent memory.
    â€œWhoa,” Courtney said. “He’s the only guy you ever wore sensible shoes for.”
    â€œI just ran into him,” Trudy said repressively. “It was an accident. It will not happen again.”
    â€œIt could happen again,” Nolan said.
    â€œI don’t believe in The One anymore,” Trudy told Courtney, ignoring him. “But he is right that this Mac has a gun. Very convenient. It can shoot the other dolls.”
    â€œThat’s not funny.”
    â€œWell, I don’t think so, either.” Trudy shifted the boxes again, making the woman in front of her twitch. “This is a really horrible toy, Court.”
    â€œI mean it’s not funny that it’s not this year’s. Leroy has been talking about toxic waste for weeks.”
    â€œSee, that’s not a good thing.”
    â€œTwo hundred,” the woman in front of her said.
    â€œNo.” Trudy shifted the box again. “Listen—”
    â€œLeroy says that Evil Nemesis Brandon—”
    â€œWill you stop calling him that? I don’t believe for one moment that Leroy came up with ‘Evil Nemesis Brandon’ on his own. That was you.”
    â€œThat was Prescott,” Courtney said, loathing in her voice for her AWOL husband. “But Leroy cares. A lot. He … Wait a minute. Talk to him.”
    â€œCourt, no—”
    Trudy heard the phone clunk as the line moved up a couple of feet. She stepped forward, thinking, At least Courtney will have the Twinkletoes this year. Courtney had been waiting to polish those toes for twenty-five years.
    And now poor little Leroy would probably be waiting another twenty-five years for his toxic waste. She had a vision of herself many years in the future, handing the Mac Two to a sad-eyed thirty-year-old hopeless wreck of a nephew.
    â€œThree hundred,” the woman in the cap said.
    â€œNo.” Trudy heard the phone clank again and then she heard her nephew’s voice, bright as ever.
    â€œAunt Trudy?”
    â€œHey, bad, bad Leroy,” she said, smiling as she pictured his happy little face under his shock of little-boy-blond hair. “Isn’t it time you were in bed?”
    â€œYes. And then Santa will bring me a ’Guffin. Hurry up and come home so you can see.”
    â€œYou know, Leroy,” Trudy said, looking at the box in her arms. “There are several kinds of MacGuffins and