My Childhood Sweetheart Asked Me to Sign a Special Folder in Room Four Hundred Seven

the sound of her squeaking shoes.

The drive back to my cottage in Oakridge took twenty minutes, but the cold draft coming through the floorboards of my old sedan did nothing to clear the tightness in my chest.

My sister Clara was already sitting on the front porch when I pulled into the gravel driveway. She had a wooden basket of late-season tomatoes continue reading …