My father, Warren, was leaning toward a judge he knew from the golf club.
Warren often spoke about integrity when the subject had nothing to do with his own behavior.
He was probably telling the judge one of his careful stories about community service or civic responsibility.
My mother sat at the center of it all.
Celeste’s champagne silk dress caught the light whenever she moved.
Her diamond earrings flashed near her jaw as she turned to acknowledge one guest and then another.
She had always understood how to divide her attention so everyone felt briefly chosen.
Then her eyes moved toward me.
Only for half a second.
She did not stare because staring would have admitted that she was waiting to see what I did.
Instead, she let her gaze brush mine before turning back to the woman seated beside her.
The corner of her mouth curved.
I knew that smile.
