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

sat at the table, his face pale, his fingers tapping against the edge of his water glass in a slow, uneven rhythm.

“My chest feels like it has a hot brick on it, Martha,” he said, his voice raspy and thin as he reached for his water.

“The sauce will be easy on your stomach tonight,” I said, reaching into the cupboard for the yellow box of baking soda.continue reading …