Herforehead was wrinkled: age and worry. Her eyes were tired. Cheeks thathad once burst with colour were now splotched and pallid. There was nosmile on her lined face. The corners of her mouth were turned down.She cradled the parcel as a mother would cradle a child. She rememberedthe very first time he had tried to latch on, searching, struggling,crying. Her nipple had comforted him then. Her breasts were useless now.She slowly moved into the modest living room. She remembered that, inthis room, he had first crawled, first stood, and first said "ma-ma". Shecould still hear it: that sound of pure living joy. Silently, itresonated even now through the room.She made her way into the kitchen. She remembered his daily efforts toset the table, help her prepare meals, do the dishes, and make tea. Thesame fluorescent light lit the table today as it had when he had done hiselementary school homework. His grades had been excellent; he tried sohard. Her usual apron hung next to the broom. The training made them better employees and it benefited the bar.After the revelations uncovered by the auditors, Scott was adamant that they do everything possible to keep the alcohol commission and state tax authorities happy. Training was a small step in that direction.Plans for the renovation of his home proceeded apace. The big design review had gone smoothly, Rita Nogawa was an artist and he approved her plans. The current task was to nail the schedule down with the primary contractor and any final design changes.Andi, the architect's receptionist, waved him straight through. She came out from behind the desk and posed for him. She was wearing a short, checkered skirt, three-inch heels and gray knee-socks with little white bows on them."Cute," he said."Thanks!" she replied.Rita Nogawa's workspace was cleaner than the last time he'd seen it. The architect was standing at an easel flipping through renderings mounted on heavy stock cardboard."You're early," she exclaimed."By a.
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