She moved her hand off of his knee, deliberately slow. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes. In Larry’s old Cadillac sedan, she sat in the backseat as Larry drove and Cathy sat beside him.
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