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stand, canvases and painting supplies, photos of her children and grandchildren, and a framed portrait of her dead husband. He looked like a banker with rosacea, a tall thin man in a suit, with a ruddy face and piercing, grey eyes. I hung him over the fireplace for her. The bed was already made, the kitchen stocked with supplies, and the linen closet filled with plush towels, an extra blanket, and clean sheets and pillowcases. I gave her a map of downtown Westwin. We spread it out on her desk. “Can you read maps?” I asked “Yes,” she said. “Good,” I replied. “The bank is about here,” I marked it with an X, and did the same for the supermarket, post office, theatre, and bowling alley. “We’re very close to town,” I said. “Just go to the end of the driveway, turn right until you hit the first light, then take a left. It’s no more than 10 minutes away.” _______

Jane was spoiled, and I did nothing to change that. If anything, I made it worse. We were patrons of the Boston Symphony Orchestra and went to concerts at least three times a month. We were on the advisory councils of several philanthropic groups, and attended expensive benefits on a regular basis. I was a ranking member of the local Democratic party, and we often held fund-raising events at the house, catered affairs with caviar, Moet et Chandon, scallops wrapped in bacon, mushrooms stuffed with heart of mongoose, and generous portions of parlez vous Francais. I sat on the boards of a software company, a new social media group, a leading advertising agency, Bank of America, - 78 -

The Fine Line Issue 3  

The Fine Line presents its third compilation of art, fiction and poetry by contributors Francis Raven, Michael Young, Dorothee Lang, Raj Sha...

The Fine Line Issue 3  

The Fine Line presents its third compilation of art, fiction and poetry by contributors Francis Raven, Michael Young, Dorothee Lang, Raj Sha...

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