Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

spectacles, his mouth set in a hard, straight line.

“Martha,” he said.

“She is thirty, Donald, and she is a fool,” I said, looking at Robert where he sat broken over our table. “But I will not have my father’s name in the paper because his granddaughter was arrested for stealing my blood work.”

I walked over to the table and stood right beside Robert’s continue reading …