Clara found a forged receipt for forty thousand dollars

the wooden siding of the greenhouse.

I reached out to touch his shoulder, but he stepped away, picking up a rusted trowel to work on a tray of winter ferns.

“I have work to do, Aunt Clara,” he said.

I walked back to my car alone, the silence of the driveway heavier than the autumn air.

The Oak Creek Diner was nearly empty when I walked in, save for a truck continue reading …