Is that so . . . fucking much?’ she added thinking the foul language would drive home the point she was making. ‘And what did we agree on earlier?...�� ‘No fucking drinking and driving,’ Janet said, with an impish grin. ‘Right, let some cowboy drive you home. They’d be happy to wreck their daddy’s car with you in it. But don’t let them speed.’ ‘Makes sense to me,’ Janet said agreeably. ‘They can’t drink, they sure as hell can’t drive. But then if they can’t drive, why the fuck am I letting them. I actually saw her last at my father's funeral in 2000. She looked matronly then, having put on a lot of weight, and having let her hair go completely grey. When I talk with her now, her only major worry in life seems to be getting Janos to quit his smoking.We had a chance to reminisce after the funeral for our father, and she told me several interesting stories about things that had happened in our family before I was born."Did you ever know Jackie, that dad wasn't my real father?" I almost. More

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