My father stood up at the lake house dinner and raised his glass in fr…

that night.

I thought about it sitting across from Sylvia Marx.

Her office was on Ellsworth Avenue, second floor, with a window facing a small courtyard and a dogwood tree that looked bare in November. Sylvia was forty-nine, composed, and careful in the way some attorneys are when they know people arrive at their office carrying more than paperwork.

She continue reading …