I’m tiny, what my mother creatively called petite. Soaking wet, I weigh a whole one hundred and five pounds. My skin is russet in its tone, my cheek...ones high and wide-set, and my eyes are a mix of brown and gold with flecks of mahogany in the irises. People who don’t know better think I’m Hispanic. I’m not. I can’t say for certain, but I’m pretty sure I’m Native American. And if it weren’t for the telltale physical characteristics of my outward appearance I wouldn’t have the slightest clue of. " Roy had looked sad for a moment. "What's wrong, darling?" Frankie had asked gently, takinghis hand. She genuinely loved Roy, for all the crap that had been going on,andwanted him happy, though of course not at the expense of herself. "Well,I will miss your attention to me." Roy confessed. "I mean, Chiselsleeps in the Big Bed." Roy was referring to their bed in the master bedroom,and it was true--Roy was now relegated to the maids room on the third floor.There was an old fashioned bell-pull. More

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