She was taller than her flatmates, taller than us, taller than most of our husbands and even some of our teenagers, whom we’d raised on fresh vegetables and fortified milk. Her heels added more height still. She had the fair skin and narrow nose we’d all tried for as young girls in Manila, before we understood that creams and clothespins wouldn’t help. Her hair, the improbable color of Sunkist soda, followed the slant of her jaw, longest at the chin and shortest at the nape, with bangs that stood in front like stiff feathers.
