Three Sisters Divided Over a Limestone Bakery Built in Nineteen Sixty-Eight

coat pocket.

The bakery storage room was cold at one in the afternoon, smelling of dry flour and brown paper. Beatrice and I stood by the wire shelving, sorting fifty-pound paper bags into neat rows of ten. The heavy hum of the nineteen-fifty Hobart mixer vibrated through the floorboards from the kitchen.

I pulled the folded paper from continue reading …