Yidel had been clean and presentable. He’d worn new clothes that didn’t smell like mothballs. He hadn’t looked at her as far as she could tell. She sometimes joked about that brief meeting with him. “I took a peek at you at the b’show,” he always responded, smiling. “Ooh la la.” “No, you didn’t,” she replied. “You thought I had red hair. I remember. You thought I wore a pink dress.”
