I could remainingthere in the dinning room, surrounded by strangers who viewed me withthe sort of curiosity a person gazing upon a two headed calf doe..., or Icould retreat back into the kitchen where Megan was. It was something ofa frying pan - fire conundrum, a true Kobayashi Maru scenario.I'd just about made up my mind that I'd be better off in the kitchenwhen Megan emerged, with the last of the food. "That's everything," shewhispered once she'd set it down. I was tempted to ask her what now,. Newmemories were beginning to bob up into his mind, displacing his own. Thekindly face of an Sicilian mother, and the stern expression of an always-angry father. Growing up in a cheap two-room studio much too small forthe three of them. Father leaving with some trashy American bimbo. Mommaworking herself to death to make ends meet; groceries, rent, paying themedical bills for an Alzheimer-ridden grandmother back in Italy. Gettingolder, Momma nagging about how she's putting on too much weight.. More

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