There were two queen size beds. She must have tried on all the clothes she had before coming down to meet me because they were everywhere. I sat in th... chair by the window. I spoke quietly bit clearly. “Little One, I want you to take every piece of clothing you brought and either fold it and put it in a drawer or hang it in the closet. Put your make-up bag in the bathroom and put your suitcase in the closet or out of the way.”Her face showed that this wasn’t part of her fantasy but even though. Except for one particular night, that is – a night that stands all alone in my memory. After all, it was the night that Mom was shot. She certainly was not hurt, but if she reads this story and figures out which of her son’s shot her, that son might not be getting much in the way of Christmas presents this year. Confused? You should be. Let me start at the beginning. The year was 1972. We were living in a small town in western Pennsylvania. There were three of us: Roger was 15 and Rory was 10.. More

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