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Seven
Seven THE SOUNDS OF PANS clattering and dishes clinking awakens me around 6 a.m. on Saturday. I need to get up anyway, since I’m saying 8 a.m. Mass, and I’d like to have time for a little something before. I shower and dress before going downstairs, thinking about the big day ahead of me—one I’m looking forward to with a mixture of fear and excitement. Excitement over where Helen and I will be going, fear over how we’re getting there. My life is just one adventure after another, you know? In the kitchen, I find Anna sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee, a copy of the weekly print edition of the Myerton Gazette spread in front of her. “Good morning,” I say as I walk to the counter to pour myself a cup of coffee—reminding myself that I’m only allowed one. “Morning, Tom,” she s
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