” Michelle sat in a yogi’s posture on the cold plywood, her eyes closed as if meditating. There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. As silent as she had remained about who had brought her home last night. “I never planned it—And now I have begun—” She felt acutely that he was entitled to explanations, and as acutely that explanations were impossible that night. “You’re our superstar!” Turning to her foster father, she was bear hugged again, squashing the white carnations. Gerald at once rid himself of his own glass and leapt to her assistance. Those were dreams.
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