Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

twenty minutes since noon.”

A car door slammed out front, the sound sharp and sudden through the heavy autumn air. Sarah moved back to the glass, her shoulder tense as she peered through the lace curtains at the driveway.

“It is Robert,” she said.

“Go find your father in the boiler room, Sarah,” I said, standing up from my chair with my palms flat against continue reading …