The hewn stone English tudor home set half a mile from the road in the midst of blue grass and willows. On the east side of the house, on the expanse of dewy lawn, a long white table, draped in a purple cotton cloth, held food, from the patio a young latino man played classic guitar.
Juliette sat at the head of the table. For it was her table and she was the host of Guido’s dinner. There were several other guests and they hummed in quiet conversations, as a warm breeze tossed gently through their gathering. Pitchers of ice water and wine filled the table, with racks of lamb, rice, yams and fresh peas. A pecan salad with strawberry vinegrette had been previously delivered by a small woman who sang under her breath and smelled of fresh linen and pie.