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

postal clerk who had worked the counter since the year Clara started kindergarten, looked up from her scale and smiled.

“Morning, Martha,” she said, her voice dry and familiar. “You look like a woman who survived a wedding.”

“I did,” I said, setting the brown paper package on the metal counter between us. “And everyone had enough to eat.”

“I saw the pictures continue reading …