Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rosie’s a flower girl at Muriel and Francine’s wedding. She walks down the aisle with the biggest look of concentration on her face.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, I tell myself. She has experienced a growth spurt of late and I can’t help but wonder if in a few years’ time both my children will tower over me. Leigh sits on my right and Troy on my left. He’s almost finished with his first year of Law in Boston, which is only a four-hour drive away so I get to see more of him.
With the money from the sale of her house in San Francisco Leigh bought a townhouse on the same street as Gerald.
“Imagine that,” I said. “Next you’ll be having dinner parties together.”
“He’s not too bad, I guess,” Leigh said when we celebrated after we’d signed the deeds. I’d protested at
