Le Furie di Atamente“Smile brightly, everyone,” Mother chirped, as she always did at such moments. My father never smiled for these pictures. I offered what I could, a grimace.
The photographer hunched over his machine, hiding himself with a heavy drape of dark fabric. The flash popped and smoked. The moment captured.
When I saw the finished product some days later, I thought it should be a painting. Photographs captured truth; paintings interpreted it. This photo captured little of our truth.
Each morning"s awakening seemed brighter than the one that came before. I hated Mrs. Worthington more every day. The reunion with Pearl that should have been nothing but one joyous day after the other was dark and cloudy, no matter how bright the sun shone.
Pearl took her breakfast in her room mo
