The more she thinks it—chance, chance—the more foreign the sound and the more desperate she feels. I made a bad mistake, she will say. Or she could say that she didn’t write any of that at work but that it was in her satchel and she accidentally got it mixed in. She could say that she is taking a writing class at the community college, something that she really has thought about doing, or maybe she could say that she is teaching a little writing group, because that would sound even more responsible.

“When will you ever learn, Shelley?” Brent had asked as he packed his stuff. “When will you ever learn to just tell the truth?”

Lil

September 7, 1969 (a keeper!)
Newton

Back to school! And already it is feeling like fall, my favorite time of year. I have all the windows open, and it is glorious, but I know by the time Frank gets home from work, I will need to close them and maybe even think about turning on the heat. Everyone is still talking about Chappaquiddick (and how do you explain such a thing to children?), such a horrifying story, and one that nearly eclipsed the moon landing. Jeff mimics the giant leap for mankind at every opportunity, often offering his sister one small step (or cookie, or whatever he is supposed to be sharing) and “one giant one for Jeff.”