My aunt believed in the sanative nature of Wonder Bread, buying enough loaves to cover the backseat of her Oldsmobile. She kept most in a chest freezer, others lined her kitchen counters. My father said it was the thinnest of breads, crinkling a slice between his fingers. My aunt rolled her eyes. They continued rolling until November, when her son said he was staying at the base. He wanted to be a career Army man. I heard her cry for a minute, and then she packed three loaves into a box and mailed them.