Someone’s Watching
Wilmington, Delaware
We had eggplant parmigiana for dinner the next night, not my favorite, but the way Angie fixed it made it more than edible. Once everyone had been seated, I started the blessing.
“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus—”
“Dad, this is America. Even the priests don’t use Latin anymore.”
“Maybe they should,” I said, and continued, “…et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”
“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Angie said.
We ate the meal in virtual silence, and after dinner, I took a seat in my favorite chair, a stiff-backed, wide-seated behemoth with an ottoman sitting in front of it. I kicked my feet up to rest and opened a book to where I had left off. Rosa stood beside me.
“Do you want a glass of wine, Dad?” She seemed more cordial than she had at dinner.
“
