This comes back to me now, as I stop walking.Her hand is entirely enclosed inside of mine.I want her to feel this warmth. The warmth she gave me.Oh n..., I did it wrong.I can tell, the smooth cool fingers which were just now clutching for warmth inside my left hand, are slipping away.I give her time to release.And she doesn't."Why did you stop?" Her warm words nearly throw me back into tears. It's been almost four years since I heard them address me specifically. But I'm mature now, a man. She meanwhile had made fresh coffee, so they sat again and opened the first book. This seemed to be a rather vanilla family album, her mother as a girl, on horseback, playing tennis, on a beach dressed in one of those swimsuits thought at the time risqué covering all of the body but the legs and arms! Then the wedding pictures, uncle Willoby, as best man, mother of the bride, her austere grandmother, nearing a smile in one, that alone cause for celebration as she was loath to smile in her whole. More

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