“Good morning, Mrs. Rosati,” I said.
She took my proffered hand, saying, “Hello, Marco. I don’t believe you’ve met my oldest daughter, Sylvia Churchill. Sylvia, this is Marco d’Argenzio.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I said.
“Likewise,” she said in a rich contralto voice. “Has Dani told you that I’m the black sheep of the family?”
“No. Dani seems to think that he holds that position in perpetuity.”
“Well, I suppose it’s fair to say that I only held the title for a couple of years, until his sins trumped mine.”
“And what were yours, if I may ask?” I said.
“Well, to borrow a line from a movie, I ‘married an Aryan from Darien’.”
“That’s odd. You don’t sound like a girl with ‘braces on her brains’.”
“No, but I amraising my children in the heathen Lutheran Church, and that’s pretty serious, as sins are reckoned.”
“That’s one of my favorite movies,” I said, smiling.
“Sylvia,” Mrs. Rosati said sharply, “you promised to be good, and what are you two talking about?”