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

had written her formula for vanilla sponge cake.

In the margin, my father had penciled the date we bought the Hobart mixer, July twelfth, nineteen seventy-two. He had written the serial number in blue ink that had faded to lavender over the decades.

The mixer was gone now, sitting in a kitchen three miles away, sold to a young woman who had paid me in continue reading …