A Greenhouse in Late September and the Harvest That Saved My Husband

basket with the yellow taxicab tomatoes, their skins bright and tight under the morning light. The glass panels above us were clean, reflecting the pale sky where the high clouds were beginning to part.

“The bank manager called while you were out here,” I said.

Arthur did not look up from the vine. “What did Mr. Miller say?”

“The accounts continue reading …