“"I'm not even talking biologically. The instinct to nurture and mother fades. It's the way God made us, so that we let go of our children and they can be independent and find their own lives. In another five years, I might not want to focus all my attention on a baby." Tinkie had a valid point, and one that haunted me even when Jitty was far away at Dahlia House. "The future is out of our hands. Right now, all we can do is concentrate on our job. Let's check out Doreen's pad," I said, opting fo...r the hip lingo of my mother's generation. It seemed to put a devil-may-care spin on things, even if it was only a superficial one. Doreen's address wasn't hard to find. It was only a few blocks from Decatur and the French Market, in an area of big, historic houses that had been divided into street-front businesses and interior apartments. The stout, arched door was opened by a diminutive woman in a dance leotard. "We're working for Doreen Mallory," I told the woman as Tinkie handed her one of our newly printed business cards.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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