Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

”

“He wants the land, Donald,” I said. “He has always wanted the land.”

Donald put his spectacles back on, adjusting the wire frames behind his ears with a quick, jerky motion.

“He wants us safe,” Donald said. “You are tired. I see it.”

“I am not ready to give up our father’s greenhouse,” I said.

“Nobody is asking that,” Donald said. “Just let him help continue reading …