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

arm of my chair, a fast, rhythmic clicking.

“These are heavy brass,” Greg said, pausing between his words. “They are a hazard if you lose your balance near the hearth.”

He reached for the small porcelain teapot on the mantle, the one my grandmother had carried from Pennsylvania.

“I said leave them,” I said, my voice dropping.

Greg stopped, his hand hovering continue reading …