Surviving the DivorceChapter 2
It wasn't until months later that I learned the route to the wine country from San Francisco. From the time we left the curb at Dolores' house until we pulled up in front of a posh bed and breakfast near someplace called St. Helena, I saw only Patricia. We held hands most of the way, and we talked. I realized, somewhere along the way, that I enjoyed listening to her as much as talking to her. A distinct change from my usual mode. She didn't prattle or gossip. When she had something to say,...