Dedication
“Dad calls from the stairs as I’m hastily rifling my closet of yore—the Betsey Johnson bodysuits, the babydoll dresses, the military jackets.
“I’ll be right down!” I say as I finally unearth Mom’s college sweater. I shake out the black cashmere, pressing the wrinkled three-quarter-length sleeves against my chest, and try it on.
Dad knocks. “You okay?”
“Yup,” I say as my head reemerges, needing to keep moving.
He pushes the door farther open, coming in to take a seat on my bed. St...epping over the heap of my airplane-aromatized outfit, I wait for him to say something. He doesn’t.
“So, full-time sand, huh?” I feel him out, reaching for the Lord & Taylor bag.
“Round the clock.” He nods. “That looks nice.”
“Thanks. But you always stay on the deck under the umbrella. And you hate the mosquitoes.”MoreLess
“I’ll be right down!” I say as I finally unearth Mom’s college sweater. I shake out the black cashmere, pressing the wrinkled three-quarter-length sleeves against my chest, and try it on.
Dad knocks. “You okay?”
“Yup,” I say as my head reemerges, needing to keep moving.
He pushes the door farther open, coming in to take a seat on my bed. St...epping over the heap of my airplane-aromatized outfit, I wait for him to say something. He doesn’t.
“So, full-time sand, huh?” I feel him out, reaching for the Lord & Taylor bag.
“Round the clock.” He nods. “That looks nice.”
“Thanks. But you always stay on the deck under the umbrella. And you hate the mosquitoes.”MoreLess
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