Golden Honey Jars on a Sunny Counter in Sweetwater

up to the table, her knitted green shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders despite the heat. She did not look at the golden jars stacked in their neat pyramids.

“I had to call the doctor for Frank last night,” Evelyn said, her voice dropping to its quiet, schoolteacher register.

“Is his breathing worse?” I asked, reaching across the wooden table to continue reading …