The dim light must have played tricks on his eyes; he thought he saw a turquoise glow radiating from Isabeau’s porcelain skin.Isabeau asked, “Are ...ou alright, Maestro?”A strange fatigue washed over him. He gripped the arm of the parlor chair with both his hands and sat down.Isabeau asked again, as she made her way to him, “Are you alright, Maestro?”The Maestro shook his head; his breathing had become ragged and labored. His mind raced with strange images, sights and sounds. He could hear. While I, on the other hand, am nearly perfect in nearly every way. Still, Daddy beamed with pleasure at Autumn’s inane chatter, just as he did with his wife’s meandering monologues.Lunch turned out to be a gray, overcooked standing rib roast. With under-seasoned gravy. Preceded by an iceberg lettuce salad with bottled dressing. My mother is too artistic in nature to worry about mundane household matters.Daddy slipped Walker and me some still warm cheeseburgers in potato buns for the ride home.. More

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