"Bill is a gentleman," she protests, and he answers, "He bit you." The thing Jason will never admit he wants most. "He doesn't hit me, which is more than I can say for you." Jason whines that he tried to apologize and she wouldn't let him, but that's because his offense was not what he was apologizing for: he wanted to say he was sorry for the slap, but she wanted him to apologize for Bartlett, and he can not know that, and she cannot tell him, so she changes the subject: "What are you doing with Gran's candlesticks?" He swallows and says, post-funeral, that he's just taking what's his, half of the world. "They were her wedding present. From her mother." Jason doesn't care: he needs the money. "For what?" The question you only ask when you know the answer; he's dirty. "You have a job. And a house." I like Jason's house, I like that when he was old enough he left the nest, and Sookie stayed home because she needed Gran, and was growing. And now they both have houses, and they have to live there. Among the memories and the pain. He tells her to fuck off, and she's not having it. That Alice/Sookie bending place I love so much more than anything else: "Uh-uh. Gran might have spoiled you rotten, but I won't. This is my house now. You put those things down and get out." He goes redneck again, blowing past her, and she grabs at the shopping bag; it rips and everything falls to the floor. Silverware, pearls, jewelry, cameos, memories. Disgusting. "You were gonna sell her jewelry?" All these memories. He runs away.

Sam's brother-dog lies on the lawn outside the trailer, groaning softly and lying on its side, impatient with his mood. "Hey, dog!" Tara says joyfully, chuckling, and lets herself in, as is a man or woman's prerogative. Inside, Sam's worrying at the folding table that is part of his trailer's furnishings, with his opposable thumbs and all. It smacks him on the hand as she's coming in. "Goddamn son of a bitching shit-ass fucking trailer!" (In the shower the other day I let my mind wander as I often do and I thought about the Proust Questionnaire, and what is your favorite curse word. And I know that I would say "cocksucker" like everybody else, because it is awesome, but I can't say my real answer and maybe it's closer to "your favorite sound," and it's just that: random clichéd Tourette's yelling like that. So when he said that I was like, "Lipton, that is my most perfect music right there!" Like, once you look at it you have to laugh because what on Earth is a "bitching shit-ass fucking" anything? Or how can you do anything in a "son-of-a-bitching" manner? I love that. But I mean: "cocksucker." Undeniable.)