Six Pairs of Thick Gray Socks Saved My White House on Elm Street

taking my coat off and hanging it on the wooden rack by the door.

“Hello, Martha,” Clara said. Her voice was too soft, the tone people use when they visit a hospital room.

I took my seat at the long folding table next to Sarah, whose husband had worked with mine at the roller bearing plant. She was sorting through a basket of blue bias tape, her fingers continue reading …