“Look at them,” John sneered, his voice a stage whisper designed to carry across the deck to his parents and their sycophantic guests. He gestured vaguely toward my family’s humble background, a topic he wielded like a weapon. “They look like they won a lottery ticket just to smell our air. You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl, can you, darling?” he added, looking directly at Clara.