Two Plane Tickets to Savannah and the Sixty Day Marriage Agreement

clamped over his pocket, his knuckles white against the dark fabric.

I watched him rub his right knee with his other hand, his gaze fixed on the silent screen where a man was pulling a bass out of a lake.

“Arthur, did you actually go to the clinic in August?” I asked.

“I said it was a mistake,” he muttered, his jaw tight.

I walked out of the den, the yellow continue reading …