At My Son’s Society Wedding They Seated Me In The Last Row Because They Thought I Was Poor

and put his hand over mine, briefly, in the way that men who have been trained out of physical affection sometimes reintroduce it, carefully and with evident effort.

“Good,” he said. “That’s good.”

Three months later, I stood in Tuscany for the first time in my sixty-eight years, on the stone terrace of a house that sat on a hillside above a valley full continue reading …