“That’s Billy Owens,” Ross whispered to Dana, pointing to a small black and white picture of a boy grinning at the camera, holding up a string of fish. Dorothy was out of the room getting them drinks. “Of course, it wasn’t there when I lived here.”
“His Dad. I adopted him, of course.” Dorothy came into the room with a tray.
“And he was a wonderful father. To all four of our children.”
“Dorothy always did have supersonic ears,” Ross remarked.
“Four?” asked Dana. She imagined she shouldn’t, for some reason, but the remark seemed to warrant it.
Dorothy pointed to a picture where four children sat side by side on the steps of what looked like a museum or church. Boy girl boy girl, each one half a head smaller than the next. “Simon, Yllsa, Willie and Yvonya. Yvonya drowned in the same accident that injured Willie,” Dorothy said. Her voice was matter of fact, but a little flat. Dana looked up at her. Her face was pained.
Dana looked at Ross. He was studying the hands in his lap.
“Willie’s getting better, though,” Dorothy added.
“Don’t let your expectations get too high, honey,” Ross said.
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