The Randolph family, Emily, John and their eighteen-year-old son Jerrold, had recently bought the house next to us at the lake. My mom, Jean Fitzgerald, being the lake's leading, social, busy bee that she is, had already become bosom buddies with Emily Randolph and had gotten all the poop.
"Sandy," she said, "You and Jerrold next door are the same age, you know." I waited for the next shoe to drop. I'd gone down a similar road with her quite a few times. "I was speaking with his m
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