“She fidgeted with her purse and looked out the window. I stared straight ahead at the road. Alone with her for the first time, I felt a little like a school child, afraid to talk in case she “sssh’d” me. With the members of the quilt club she seemed like a different person, relaxed, younger. But with me, she was every bit the stern librarian she’d once been.“Is this the son who’s a state representative?” I finally asked.“It is, but that’s just a stopping point. He’ll be governor one day,” she s...aid proudly.“My grandmother told me you have quite accomplished kids. Your son, plus a doctor, two lawyers, and an artist.”“Sheila isn’t a artist. She owns a kind of art gallery. She doesn’t actually make the art herself.” There was a vague disapproval in her voice, but it quickly softened. “She does have a good eye, though. She always finds something.”“I wanted to be an artist when I was a kid. I used to love to paint. In fact, when I moved to New York I wanted to work in an art gallery, ”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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