Thirty-Five
“TOM, WE HAVE A PROBLEM,” Helen calls from her bedroom.
I have just laid down on my bed and gotten comfortable, trying to ride out the last hour before I can take more pain relief. “Can we talk about it here?” I shout back. She marches into my room, a look of aggravation tinged with embarrassment on her face.
“I looked up The Belvedere online and they say jackets are required,” she declares without preamble.
“Oh, is that all?” I reply. “No problem. I’ve got my suit and I probably have an old dress shirt in the back of the closet that still fits. We’re good.”
The look of embarrassment leaves her face, allowing aggravation to take over completely.
“I’m not talking about you, Tom,” she huffs. “I’m talking about me. If you have to wear a jacket, that means I have to have a
