Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

to the blank signature line at the bottom of the contract.

Evelyn didn’t look. She swept a set of measuring spoons into the crate. “We don’t have time for a walk down memory lane. If we don’t list the house this week, the bank won’t wait.”

She grabbed another box, leaving me alone with the paper.

Arthur cleared his throat, a low, gravelly sound that always continue reading …