As he'd mentioned, Daniel's notably younger wife was a fantastic cook. She set out a brunch buffet of quiche, croissants, sausage, and fruit, "prepared with her own little hands" as her husband put it. With a smile, she left us to our conversation with a roll of her blue eyes and a toss of her red hair. I wondered how she felt about being reduced to someone who prepared things with her "little hands," but didn't have time to dwell on the question.
Don loaded up his plate with more than I'd ever seen him eat and settled down at the judge's breakfast table, located in the sunroom of a large, comfortable home with polished wood everywhere, overstuffed furniture and perfectly mixed colors.
Through the window, we could see the dogs—the judge’s, as well as Emmett and Zip—romping in the shade o
