Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

through Oak Creek.

By five o’clock, the wind had picked up, rattling the loose glass panes in the sunroom.

I sat in the green wicker chair, unscrewing the tiny dropper of vitamin E oil to rub the thick, golden liquid into my cuticles.

The heavy gold signet ring on Robert’s hand caught the low light as he let himself in through the hallway continue reading …