In April, my parents went to Spain for ten days with the Szabos. My mother and Sandra Szabo had convinced their husbands to attend a “cooking school for couples” in Madrid, though I can’t imagine the men took it as seriously as the women. In May, my parents went with the McKelveys and Olsens to golf school for a week at a new course in Florida that would soon host the PGA Championship. By the end of the month, they were looking forward to returning to Toronto to celebrate Marcus’ tenth birthday and to staying at Hampshire Court for the first time since they moved.
Simon phoned me on Friday night, the day before my parents were to arrive, and asked if I would come with him to the airport the next morning.
“Why do you need me?”
“It would be nice for Mom and Dad to see both of us,” he repl
