She looked at my silver hair.
She looked at the bag.
She looked toward Patricia, but her mother had gone still.
Ethan placed his champagne flute on the stone railing.
“Why is my mother on the ground?”
No one answered.
The quartet stopped one instrument at a time.
The last violin note thinned into the afternoon and disappeared.
The young server stepped forward again.
This time Ethan nodded.
Together they helped me stand.
Water streamed from my sleeves and pooled around my shoes.
Vanessa gave a quick laugh that did not sound like laughter anymore.
“Ethan, this woman came through the side lawn dressed like that. She wouldn’t explain who she was.”
