Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

called Robert’s office again,” Donald said, his voice dropping an octave.

I set the tray down on the lower rack, the pots clinking softly against the metal frame. “What did he tell them?”

“The offer expired at midnight,” Donald said. “He told them we are not selling, not today and not in the spring, and that they should stop sending their letters to continue reading …