Thirty Veterans in Leather Vests Arrived at My Front Door on Tuesday Morning

pulling out a brass key. “You start tomorrow morning at eight.”

I took the key, the heavy metal cold in my palm, and looked out the window at my old Chevrolet.

“Thank you, Arthur,” I said.

“Do not thank me yet,” he said. “The bookkeeping in that office is a disaster, and George is not finished with you.”

I walked back to the car, where Martha was waiting continue reading …