”“Well, no. Not exactly...”His voice had that gravely pitch. I smiled, leaned down. A woman’s work is never done.What with one thing and anoth...r, then another, Matt and I didn’t return to South-Carolina Connover until the next morning. Breakfast — biscuits and gravy, spicy sausage patties, Zapp’s Hotter ‘N Hot Jalapeño chips. Hey, it worked.I used the tip of my linen napkin to wipe a spot of drool from the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence, but it happened. Neither one of us. Even our lunches were full of her exclamations and loud groans of approval for the food she had prepared. She had a northern French accent and the edge of her vowels lilted, sometimes with a throaty sound, and other times with emphasis, dragging them out. It was beautiful. Mom worked hard at overcoming her accent, but Tante Belle embraced hers. Often, my Aunt would ask things like, "How you say…?" And make hand gestures or mime an action. She would scratch at the dirt and pretend to. More

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