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I went out to her, worried. "You all right, miss?" Please call me 'Sarah', if you're going to look after me." She was smiling now, but still crying. "Sorry, Mike - happy tears!" She waved the letter at me. "I'm not used to getting love letters."Especially on college note paper! Well, well! And Mrs Whitehead buried last Friday. But, come to think, she and this girl had been thick as thieves - always going out together. Never a breath of scandal before - not about Dr Whitehead - despite Mrs W. being older and him with all the girls mooning over him. Well, well.I patted her shoulder and left her reading the letter.Sarah's DiarySarah's Diary - Sunday 30 May ContinuedWeird - because there was a deadline - suddenly everyone was pulling things together. Vera was writing notes for the minutes so I sat back to watch things happen. All the items on my list ticked. And the day suddenly folded up. Meeting over, everybody suddenly anxious to be gone. Vera was making sure that the Sunday lunch and. He couldn’t get over the transformation of his wife and how she’d become so sexual in such a short period of time. They knocked on the door at exactly 8 PM and Syreeta greeted them and invited them in. They had decorated they house such that it didn’t even look like it belonged on such a quiet little enclave, it looked like something out of an interior design magazine. Brad was expecting something more outlandish, like on MTV Cribs because that’s all he’d ever really known of Black wealth. He had to check his own biases at the door because Dixon and Syreeta were far from stereotypical, they were two intelligent, articulate, extremely sophisticated people, and they seemed to be wildly in love with one another. Brad handed Dixon a bottle of wine and they went off to the dining room to enjoy a sumptuous meal of French onion soup, curry roasted duck, roasted asparagus with garlic, and focaccia bread while listening to some rarely heard tracks from John Coltrane. The evening was.
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