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

lingered on my sweater.

Harold was sliding a heavy cardboard box containing his brass desk clock and three framed golf prints into the back seat of his Buick.

“Well, now,” I said, stepping closer to the bumper.

Harold dropped his keys on the floorboard, grunted as he reached down to retrieve them, and finally looked at me.

“They are keeping me on as an continue reading …