BABY, BABY, DON’T YOU CRY
The sound of a baby crying awakened Marissa for the second time that night. Her windows were closed and none of the neighbors had a baby, so she wasn’t sure where the sound was coming from. Perhaps she’d been dreaming.
It occurred to her that reality was creeping into her head, a little bit at a time, and it had nothing to do with money. As the days wore on, in spite of being very busy, decisions being made about her new home, furniture ordered, and a broad sweep through the house wares department at Bloomingdale’s, her life was not reduced to a Paris Hilton style.
Each day she looked in the mirror and knew that the layers of protection to her emotions that had been built up for twenty-five years were beginning to peel away, much like an artichoke, to the very
