"Take care, sweetie,'' one woman said in my community on the edge of the small, rural, wine-centric city of Sonoma, hugging me through my car window on one of three consecutive nights we fled an ...

The women who call me sweetie can make me feel tiny and tucked in, as if they’re about to lay a cool washcloth on my feverish head, or take me out for post break-up ice cream.