They gathered in a room by the sea with sweatshirts on. There was a black-and-white television, a centerpiece set on a shelf above the food. The men were barbecuing and watching a Yankees game. The women were silent, conspiring. Somebody's girlfriend marched up and changed the channel. Here was a beauty contest, women in beehive hair parading in knee-length dresses down a catwalk. It was eerily silent, the calm before a storm, and then somebody, one of the men, marched up and dialed noisily back to the baseball game. The young woman charged back up and, slap, the crew cut boyfriend had had enough, and the television was never touched again as the Yankees rounded the bases and innings.
Mother gave Will a camera she had in her large purse, full of keys, papers, food -- a Kodak instamatic that was wound on manually.
“Go make her feel better, Will.”
Will took the camera and went around the corner. The brown haired lady was lying in a bedroom, face to the wall, convulsing in sad tears."Smile," he said. He was afraid she wouldn't hear.