Chapter Thirty-Four
Richie would never forget the sight of his mother, the way she looked when she came down the hallway stairs. She was a vision, a dream, his fantasy come true. She had put on heels so tall she had to pick her way down the stairs. She’d had her hair done in an old-fashioned pompadour. It lay artfully twisted into shimmering coils on top of her head. The upswept style laid bare the sinuous curve of her neck and the strong line of her regal chin.
She had gone to Judith Bertsch’s dress shop for her dress. Judith had taken particular pride in designing a mother of the bride dress for her old friend. The clingy dark silk fell in layered ruffling waves over the descending arcs of her breasts, the spread of her hips, and down to her heels. Margaret loved the dress design, but
