She looked at Sorrel. She flinched back. ‘My Dad would never do that! Not my Dad! If he did, then you must have done something really wrong, somethi...g terrible!’ Sorrel reached out her hand, ‘Come on honey.’ ‘I’m not your honey! You’re not my Mom! Don’t touch me!’ Marion was so angry she was shaking. She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand anything! Hannah’s evening was complete. She’d ruined something fine, clean, and genuinely wholesome. This was not what Gwyneth wanted. Fletcher. While she admitted an infatuation for me, on her part, it was many years ago. There were many other opportunities to attract her allegiance away from that acquaintance, thirty years ago. I felt flattered way beyond the norm when she arrived at my door last spring. To remember someone and visit them is quite a gift to the recipient even if the separation has only been a few weeks, but thirty years? My God! Astounding! I decided to write her and convey my feelings in some small way. I didn’t want. More

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