Edition 73, Volume 2

Tom asked, “She a seamstress?”

“Not really.” I reached for the photo from where I sat on the couch. My wife was next to me. Marie sat in an armchair on one side of the coffee table. Tom handed me the photo and settled his girth back into the armchair opposite her, lowering the bottle onto the floor next to him. I used my thumb to brush dust from the glass covering the photo and sighed.

“What?” my wife said.

“Nothing really.” I pursed my lips. “Just an old memory about that sewing machine.” I looked at her. “One of my biggest regrets actually.”

She frowned. “Tell us.”

“It’s silly. Little kid stuff.”

Tom gestured with his glass in my direction. “Spill, mister. Show and tell.”

“Yes, don’t be shy,” Marie said. “We were all young once.”

I looked from one face to another, then back at the photo. “Well, like I said, it’s pretty silly.” I shrugged. “I was in second grade. St. Rose of Lima School. Old smoke-stained brick building. Almost all the students, like me, had fathers who worked blue-collar jobs. Sister Bernard was my teacher. Ancient. Strict. Classroom was in the basement behind a boiler room. It was a Catholic school, so we didn’t celebrate Halloween, but did the next day instead: All Saints’ Day. We had a party before dismissal where we all had to dress in a costume of our patron saint. Wasn’t an option, it was a firm expectation.”

“Who was your saint?” Marie asked.

I heard myself snort. “Francis. My middle name.”

“Of Assisi?” Tom said. “The one with all the animals?”

I nodded. “So, my mom stayed up into the wee hours the night before sewing my costume. I remember getting up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and passing their bedroom. She was hunched over the sewing machine in the dark.” I pointed to the photo. “Just this gooseneck lamp sending a cone of light over a brown robe under the bouncing bob and her face furrowed in concentration, my dad’s slumbering shape under the covers. I can remember, like it was yesterday, the sound of her working the peddle on that machine after I got back in bed.”

I brushed more dust off the glass.

“Go on.” My wife’s voice was soft, urging.

“Well, she had me try it on the next morning before school. The 27