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

black sedan was parked near the pump house, the engine off but the driver-side door slightly unlatched.

A thin gap of dark space showed between the rubber seal and the metal frame, as if he had been in a hurry.

He was not in the car; I could hear his voice carrying from the second greenhouse, his fast, high-pitched words rising above the hum of the heater.continue reading …