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

from her garden on her lap, but she set them down on the wicker table the moment she saw my face.

“You look like you have seen a ghost,” Clara said, following me into the kitchen.

On my kitchen table, right next to the salt shaker, sat a stack of unpaid tax notices with red ink that Ben had left behind when he moved his things in.

“I need you to look continue reading …