Daughters were in the air that day. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. Sheppard is Constance Trenchard," replied Jonathan, maliciously. To my loving parents and brothers, and my Aunts, Gail and Barb. In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire. They are their mother’s sons. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. And then I'll pay off old scores. Those were dreams.
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