Michelle was on her like a fly, asking her questions about her past foster homes she did her best to avoid, pretending to be swamped every night with sudden reams of homework and unable to be reached by phone. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. It would make my wife very happy. Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. She married my Dad in a small ceremony down at City Hall. Catch him, she begged silently.
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