Six Sisters and the Blue Ledger on Oak Street

a black ballpoint pen into my hand.

I pressed the pen to the paper and wrote my name quickly on the bottom line.

“There,” I said, handing the sheet back to her.

Beatrice folded the paper immediately and slid it back into her purse.

“Perfect,” she said.

“Now go get some air, Clara, you look tired.”

By five o’clock, the smell of baking chicken casserole filled continue reading …