“Oh, I’m so sorry. It’s just that you’re so pretty that I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”“Well, thank you.”“Isn’t that an Australian accent I hear?” I asked.“It is! Most people don’t recognize it. They usually think I’m British.”“Well, I recognize it because I lived in a Melbourne suburb for three years; even got my citizenship while there.”“Really? Why did you move to Australia?”“At the time I retired, I was married to a girl who was born and raised in and around Melbourne and she wanted to move back.”“I see! Care if I join you?”“Not at all,” I responded, trying not to show my excitement.As she sat down across from me at the small table, I said, “I just have to say that your blonde hair and blue eyes are so gorgeous! They’re what I was staring at.”“Thank you again. I’m Emilie, spelled E-m-i-l-i-e.”“I’m Bill. Spelled B-i-l-l.”We laughed and she said, “Got it.”Suddenly our eyes locked together and the world seemed to stand still around us. It felt like our souls were connected. But. And that the family would think they knew why I wanted the suit.”“This will explain everything,” he added as he reached into the inside pocket of the coat– a pocket that Gerry had not known was there.When he withdrew his hand, he was holding an envelope. It was thick, ivory-colored stock and looked very old and very expensive. Written on the front in bold blue-black script was “Gerald Maxwell, Esquire.”He sat quietly for several moments, sliding the envelope through his fingers.“A week before that party,” Gerald said slowly, “her father threw me out of their house. He called me white trash and said that I would never be good enough to marry his daughter.”He slid the envelope back inside the jacket and then took a deep breath. “She came to me a week or so after the party,” he continued, “and said that she was pregnant. She asked if I was still willing to marry her.”He smiled. “Of course I said, ‘yes’. I never asked about the father of the child. I raised your grandfather as my own,.
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