Priscilla was well aware that a black metaphor for diabetes is “touch of sugar.” But her father had never been a diabetic, and it did not run in his family. As she listened to him talking about being on a special low-salt diet and “eating bland foods like poached eggs,” she recalled, however, that he did have high blood pressure. But the diet that he was describing to her sounded more suitable for patients with hypertension than for those with diabetes.
As she pondered what he was saying—and maybe not saying, she heard what seemed his subtly changing the subject.
“You know,” he said, “it’s actually your mother I want to talk to you about. I suppose you know how much I love her. And, right now, I need her here with me.”
Surprised, Priscilla interrupted him. Just a short while ago, during
