Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

hidden under the table.

He polished his spectacles with the end of his tie, his eyes looking small and tired without the glass.

“The board is asking questions,” Donald said. “We cannot afford another bad week.”

“Give me one more week,” I said, leaning against the doorframe to keep my knees from buckling. “Just until Dr. Sullivan gets the blood test results continue reading …