This is the first time I’ve gone to Hillary’s house, but it isn’t hard to spot. It’s not in the best section of Shively, but an area that has big old houses, some of them over one hundred years old. The Calvanos bought their house before Hillary was born, expecting to take time to fix it up—and expecting to have a big family. They have fixed it up over time, and it’s really pretty, both outside and in. The family turned out unable to completely fill it, though: just Hill, one boy, Roger, who’s nine, and little Patrice.
When I knock on the door, it’s Hillary’s mom who answers. She smiles at me, and I feel welcome at once—what a relief. Mrs. Calvano is chubby and young-looking, with the same mass of wavy hair as her daughter. Patrice, called Ri-ri I soon discover, runs up behind her mother,
