While Vernon settled on the couch, Elvis pointed to our family portraits on the wall and said, “Look here, Daddy—here’s Priscilla with her whole family. I think she looks like her mama. Can’t see too much resemblance with her brothers or sister—they’re still a little too young. Don’t cut your hair, Baby. I love it long like this. You’re one pretty girl. How’d I happen to run into you? Must be fate.” The last few observations were uttered in a whisper to me as my parents came in.
