Six Sisters and the Blue Ledger on Oak Street

the chamomile tea, watching the amber liquid fill her cup to the rim. “I was not nervous in September.”

“You did not sign this, Clara,” Gene said, setting the green unlit pencil down on the wood with a solemn look.

The green pencil rolled an inch and stopped against my saucer.

I stared at the white paper, the curve of the counterfeit letter in my own continue reading …