She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. My Mom inherited our house from our Grandma, otherwise they never could have afforded it, not even twenty years ago. Woof! What a dog. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. " "Yes.
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