By D R Crooks
Anne’s head pounded. What did this guest think about the president? She shuffled her notes, unsure of what to ask. She couldn’t recall if he was pro or con.
William sat across from her, a hand on each knee, arms bent at the elbows, eyebrows slightly raised. He remembered how his dad had sat that way at the dinner table, looking at his mother. He had tried to read the looks between them for 18 years and still didn’t know if his dad had been appeasing or respecting his mother. Now he looked at Anne, realizing it had always been both.
Wonderfully captured. Loved it.