My Christmas Always
As the last two months of 2002 made their way toward the New Year, things started quieting down. Mrs. Mann had been home from the hospital for a little more than a week, and her physical therapy was coming along well, although it would still be some time before she could walk without a cane.
When I walked into Raphael’s that Friday night, the Italian restaurant was crowded, as usual. Not that it mattered. I’d called earlier to make a reservation.
This was the first time we’d been able to go to Raphael’s in more than a month. After dinner, we were going to see a movie. Quinn had a weakness for Kurosawa, and The Seven Samurai was playing at some art house.
He hadn’t arrived yet. I took a seat at our table in the alcove. The menu rested across my plate. I’d wait a bit
