Eleven
OUR INTERVIEW WITH Heather Andrews isn’t until 10 a.m., but a mix of excitement and terror settles into my stomach around 6 a.m. Needing to hear her voice, I call Helen.
Maybe not my best decision.
“What? Hello? Hello?” Helen yawns into the phone.
“Good morning, darling,” I say.
“Good morning? Tom, dammit, it’s the middle of the night. It’s still dark outside.”
I’m sort of taken aback, despite the fact that I know full well that Helen is more like Godzilla than my sweet bride before her coffee.
“It’s just a little before 6 a.m.”
I hear her plop back on the bed. “What do you want, Tom?”
“I just wanted to see how you were.”
“I was asleep,” she growls.
“So I gather,” I say. “You’re not nervous about the interview?”
She sighs. “Listen Tom, I love you so much. In order to mar
