William slurped his shake. Mrs Eames

cast him a dirty look. Really young

William, your manners need an overhaul,

she said, faintly amused. I sipped my

drink, lips lightly pursed, ladylike. I

couldn’t bear the grossness of boys.

The restaurant hummed with happy

people. Piped music tinkled in the

background. Mrs Eames had become

our surrogate mother. I was pleased.

She was wrapped in her unnecessary

winter coat, clearly relishing our outing.

She was wrinkled as a weathered apple.

I loved her.

Author: Robert James Berry

Poet & Novelist

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