Image: Anna O Photography
She carefully peaked out from behind the hydrangea flower. She hated mirrors; flaws were magnified. She had her hair up in one of those messy styles so that feathers of darkness touched her collar. She remembered the conversation between ancient relatives on stormed-in winter days. “Always black lace in the bodice,” they nodded. “Such dresses serve DuMaarier women well.” “Very well,” one would say causing laughter, tottering tea cups and calls for sherry.
If she stayed quiet, they didn’t notice the “little person with big ears.” Solonge didn’t understand most of the stories then. But those eavesdropping afternoons had soaked into her psyche. She could no longer ignore it. So she bought a dress with a black lace bodice to serve a DuMaarier woman well again, she hoped. She’d bring the flower for a fan. “Just in case.” Lucinda made her feel very warm around the black velvet collar.
My thoughts and prayers go to the people of Orlando who have lost so much, and to the LGBT and Hispanic communities which have loss so much more