For two years, my daughter-in-law dressed like every season was late autumn.
In July, when the rest of us sat on the patio in sleeveless dresses and sandals, Emily came to Sunday dinner in long sleeves buttoned to the wrist and high collars that skimmed her throat.
At Christmas, she looked the same as she did in August, only in darker colors. Even at backyard cookouts, with the grill smoking and the air thick enough to drink, she kept herself covered from neck to hands.
At first, I told myself it was a style choice.
By the end of the first summer, I knew it wasn’t.
People reveal themselves in what they avoid. Emily never rolled up her sleeves. Never reached too quickly for anything. When she got nervous, she tucked her hands into the ends of her cuffs like a child hiding inside a sweater.
If a bracelet or watch shifted, she adjusted it at once. If someone suggested the patio over the air-conditioned dining room, she smiled and agreed, but I could see the strain around her mouth by dessert.
