Sixty-three Year Old Widow Refused to Hide Her Gray Hair at Work

is already two steps ahead of us, Arthur, I said.

Then we must be three, he replied, opening the passenger door of his car for me.

By two o’clock that afternoon, I was sitting at my kitchen table, the cardboard box of my office belongings sitting untouched on the linoleum counter.

The cold tea in my cup had a thin film over the top, and the quiet of the continue reading …