Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

gray light from the window.

“She stood in my sunroom and told me Martha was losing her mind,” Donald said, his voice clipped and short. “She looked me in the eye and said the tests showed my wife was dying.”

“I told her to say that,” Robert said, his head dropping back into his hands. “I wrote the words down for her.”

The kitchen clock continue reading …