Three Bags of Cashews and a Dishonest Sister In Law at the Wedding

the glass counter stood Jerry Miller, a man I had known since we both bought our first commercial ovens in the eighties. He was wiping down a scale with a yellow rag.

“Martha,” Jerry said, looking surprised to see me with Arthur. “I didn’t expect you today. We aren’t due for a Clodhopper delivery until Thursday.”

“We aren’t here about a delivery, Jerry,continue reading …