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

old and wearing his faded blue overalls, was leaning over the fender of his vintage Buick with a yellow polishing cloth.

“Donald,” I said, walking into the shadow of the garage.

He stopped his hand, his back remaining hunched over the polished chrome of the headlight. He cleared his throat twice before he turned his head slightly toward me. “Martha. continue reading …