CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
My head spun. I felt the dizziness hit me in a wave.
I was three years old again and outside in my backyard with Patty and our parents. Dad was barbecuing hamburgers. Mother was brushing Patty’s hair. Mine had already been fastened into a ponytail.
I had been given the chore of setting the picnic table. Mother had taught me how to arrange the forks, spoons, and knives in the right order at each place. She’d also shown me how to lay out the napkins so they wouldn’t fly away by carefully placing special candles on them that kept the mosquitos from biting us. The candle holders were round and looked like miniature stained-glass windows, smaller versions of the ones I saw at church without the pictures in them. When their wick was lit at night, Dad said they created a pr
