On this morning Casey’s family sat in the same place where they always sat in the Addison Methodist Church, a little more than halfway back on the right side, first Aunt Ada, then Casey’s little sister, then his mother, then himself, then his father.

My family talked big game about summers on the Vineyard and the rest, but it was all too insistent, and you’d see right through. Dad said our wealth “disintegrated.” That was his word.

My ears heard the ‘copter so I opened my eyes. When my vision settled I watched it fly through my sight line in the air above the branches above me.

I saw The Philadelphia Story for the first time on a Saturday in midsummer. A friend had recommended it to me, had described his favorite scene from the film in terms I may have misinterpreted.