She was not a small woman, but not a tall one either, her hair was always brushed out down her back in soft honey waves, she didn’t believe in tying...it back or holding it up. She had an excellent hairline that way and it made her look years younger. She looked mid thirties though she had to be almost fifty. Genes are and incredible thing and Mr. Holt was a lucky man. She seemed at a loss. A small wrinkle, her only one by God, formed between her eyebrows, she was wondering what to do, what to. I looked over at Bob’s bed and he was still curled up in a covered fetal position. I looked for Fernanda and she was not in her bed. The bed was stripped and all that I could see was a bare mattress. I quickly dressed and stumbled down stairs. Everyone was sitting at the dining room table, eating. “How did you sleep?” my mother inquired. “Very well,” I replied. I looked at Fernanda, who was standing in the kitchen, cooking eggs. She never even looked up. I wondered if perhaps I had overstepped. More

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