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He had already written his father and explained the situation, so he needed only to send a birth announcement. "Emma Dior Prescott April 26th, 1994 7 lbs 6 oz. Looks a little like us," he added beneath. He walked to the corner and dropped the card in the mailbox. On his way back, he met Arlen and told him the news. "A major event. I'm happy for you," Arlen said.
In April, early on the morning of the 26th, two months after they were married in City Hall and had their celebratory dinner at F. Parker Reidy's, Jennifer felt the first serious contraction. Six hours later, Emma Dior Prescott wrinkled her nose, squinted, made two fists triumphantly, according to Oliver and went back to sleep, breathing on her own. Jennifer was thrilled and tired.
"Michiko told me you helped with the moss-rock." "Not much. Those guys were pretty big . . ." "They my football coaches, phys-ed teachers," Ken said. "Aha." "Do you have business with my brother?" "Not business, exactly. My mother knew him a long time ago. Did he ever mention Dior Del'Unzio?" "Mmmm . . ." Silence. "That was a long time ago." "My middle name is Muni.
Dior and Paul came for a one night visit. His mother liked Jennifer and gushed endlessly over Emma. He and Paul had drinks in the background and talked about work and the Red Sox. It had been how many years since Carleton Fisk had gone to Chicago? One of the all-time great catchers, a son of New Hampshire the event still felt like the death of an era, almost the death of New England.
"I guess I never told you that story," she said to Oliver. "It was a long time ago. My sixteenth birthday, in fact." She sighed. "It was at Nice, on the Riviera. He arranged a party on the beach wine, great food, fireworks . . . After the fireworks, he gave me a bamboo cage with a white dove inside. "'This is your present, Dior, he said.
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