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added.
    "Preferably from your own two eyes," I said.
      "Are you telling me your entire family are liars?" Michael asked.
      "I have no idea what you're talking about, Meg." Mother sniffed.
      "Not liars," I said. "Well, maybe a few, and mostly they can't help it. It's just that most of our family are prone to ... exaggeration."
      "Tall-tale-telling," Rob added.
    "Creative interpretation of reality resulting from wishful thinking," I suggested. "Like Dad's notion about Rob having a career in forensic pathology. All Rob's life Dad has been dreaming about Rob following in his footsteps. He was depressed about Rob not going to med school until he came up with the forensic pathology idea one day, and after that it took on a life of its own."
      "That's the other thing you have to watch out for," Rob said. "With most of the family, once they get an idea into their heads, it's very hard to get them to change their minds."
      "We hate letting silly things like reality interfere with our pet notions," I said.
      "I think I know exactly what you mean," Michael said. "I've already experienced something of the sort myself."
      "Good," I said. "So you'll know to take everything anyone here says with a grain of salt."
      "A pound of salt," Rob corrected.
    "Honestly, I have no idea why you children insist on filling this poor boy's head with such stories about your own family," Mother said. "You'd think we were a family of lunatics and pathological liars." When the three of us burst out laughing, she shook her head, gathered up her embroidery and her lemonade, and went inside.
      "Oh, dear," Rob said. "You don't suppose Mother is upset, do you?"
      "I doubt it, Rob."
      "I'd better go and see." He sighed, heading for the door.
      "Mother is imperturbable, Rob, you should know that by now," I called to his retreating back. Michael chuckled.
      "Oh, it's very funny if you don't have to live with her," I said. "Which, thank God, I don't most of the time."
      "I wasn't laughing at your mother," he said, hastily. "I was laughing from sheer delight; how often does one meet someone who can use words like "imperturbable" in casual conversation like that?"
      "Yes, I know we can be rather pretentious sometimes. Expanding one's vocabulary is one of Dad's pet projects. He used to pay us by the syllable for new words. He does it with the grandkids now. That sort of thing has a permanent effect."
      "A very charming one, if you ask me," Michael said. I sipped my lemonade and looked at him over the rim of my glass. The more I saw of him, the more I realized why instead of treating him as a pariah when they discovered his sexual orientation the local ladies seemed to have adopted him as a sort of pet. He was not only drop-dead gorgeous, he was absolutely charming. Except for the rather generic Middle Atlantic accent, he could easily have been custom-made to fit their notions of a Southern gentlemen. He was immaculately groomed and casually but elegantly dressed, with impeccable manners. Even Samantha and her mother admitted he was a charming conversationalist--although around here, that could simply mean that he had the ability to listen to others rattle on for hours without any overt sign of boredom. And he had a knack for the formal gallantry and witty flirtatiousness that so many aging Southern belles consider their due. More to my taste, he seemed to have a brain, and a slightly sardonic sense of humor. If only ... but no. He wasn't very obvious about it, but if both Mother's branch of the grapevine and Samantha's said he was gay, I could see no use wasting time on might-have-beens.
      "I'm not sure you should be quite so hard on your family, though," he said. "It seems to me that most of the town shares your tendency to see things the way they want to see them."
      "Most of the town are related to us, one way or another. At least the ones who have been here a generation or two. And the rest have just been around us too long."