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

She did not look up.

Clara staring down at her hands, unable to look Martha in the eye.

The bakery kitchen was cold at eight the next morning, smelling only of scrubbed stainless steel and bleach. I dragged a wet green rag across the prep table, watching the gray water pool in the tiny dents of the metal surface. My right thumb joint continue reading …