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She obviously still read the paper; she talked about the news and wanted to know what went on behind the scenes. She and McCarthy traded war stories. “I covered the cops, you know, before I married Roy,” she said, turning to me. “City hall, the university. I covered the recruiting scandal.”
I hadn’t had many bylines, but she recognized my name and mentioned a feature I’d written. She said it was getting late, kissed McCarthy on the cheek, touched my arm, and left.
The next time I saw her was at her funeral. The line was long, but I took my time. “Doesn’t she look wonderful?” I heard someone whisper. No, I thought, she looks like very thin old paper, like a touch would crumble her.
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