Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

the back of an idling delivery truck, a clipboard tucked under his arm as he checked off wooden pallets.

“Sure, I remember the Tuesday run,” Arnie said when Sarah showed him the pink slip. “But Robert told me to take those cases of winter cyclamens to the east warehouse instead.”

My chest felt tight, the smell of exhaust fumes making my head spin. “Robert continue reading …