She was shaking.I didn't have to ask. I knew it had to be something to do with Ollie. I held her. Neither of us spoke.We must have stood in the middle...of the kitchen for five minutes, Laura shaking and me trying to console her.She stepped back, her face serene but awash with stains and strain. Her eye fastened to mine as she came back to me. She balked when I tried to steer her toward the bedroom, her body resuming the shaking that I had witnessed a few minutes before.She took me by the hand. I had my letter confirming my reservation in hand before I went in search of an official to assign me a space. I had chosen, to start with, what had been described in the online brochure as an intimate festival. I assumed that was their idea of how to describe a small show.There would be no more than fifty vendors the information said. I was one of them. For the show I had found a photograph on line of a shrimp boat. I studied it then drew one freehand. My shrimp boat was just a little more. More

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