I usually followed her and did what I was supposed to do and then left without saying anything. I knew that I had to break the silence or she may stop...asking me for help. The subject came without much searching. Next time I was hooking her up, I made a remark as casually as possible, “Auntie, you seem to prefer red a lot?”That was the first time I acknowledged the fact that I had paid attention to what I was doing. She replied, “I don’t know why, but I like red. It makes me feel different.”We. .I should go."But if I go, she thought, how will I ever find out who this deep, dusky voice belongs to?"If you really must go, I wouldn't want to keep you. You answered my question, if you'd like, we can simply say good morning, and both be on our way."She had no idea what to say. "Why did you ask me that?" she blurted out.Again, for a moment, no response. In that moment she felt sure she'd imagined it all, her frustration and longing building to this crescendo, her mind bringing this...this. “He said you met at university. But he didn’t seem to want to talk about it. Most Harvard men I know will go on and on about it with the slightest excuse.”“Poor Jack,” said Carmen. “He didn’t have the best time there.”“Tell me about it,” said Isabelle, leaning forward and putting her chin on steepled hands. Carmen thought again what an angelic face she had.“Jack was very poor,” Carmen said. “His father was a sergeant in the Army – obviously he didn’t make enough to pay for a Harvard. “I’m just curious as to why Rita’s downtown instead of you.”“Day One of these things is always just handshakes, photo ops, and ‘how’s the ol’ regime holding up?’ Really, I could send my Madame Tussaud’s statue, if we could find a way to make it drink champagne, nibble caviar, and pretend to be happy to see everyone. Actually...” Helen took out her phone and spoke French into it. “Message to Jeanne: Have an idea, mention Madame Tussaud to me when I get home; I’ll remember what it’s.