The dark hair and eyes was another thing (even though my mom has black hair too).“I’m just glad you didn’t get his nose,” my mom said one day,...“That was his only real flaw. He had this terrible beak of a nose.”“I wish you’d just forget about him” I told her, “He’s gone, so what? He missed out on you.”We had been picking berries, which was a weekly thing. My mother was wearing a light blue dress and her black hair was up in a bun. She was a beautiful woman, no doubt about that. Sometimes I. He seemed surprised to see me.“We need to talk, Slick,” I said.“What’s your problem, man?” he asked harshly, no trace of a French accent in his voice, as he jerked his arm away from my grip.“Problem?” I asked, “No problem. Not yet, anyway. Let’s have a quick chat.”He glanced inside then stepped back. I indicated a patio table and pulled out a chair for him. “Sit. This won’t take long; then you can go back to what you were doing.”Reluctantly, he sat. “It’s your home, and I am your guest,” he. More

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