Two Plane Tickets to Savannah and the Sixty Day Marriage Agreement

grandfather clock in the hallway was striking one when I finished chopping the celery and cucumbers in our kitchen.

The old refrigerator hummed its familiar, low song, the sound that had filled our home for thirty-five years.

Arthur sat at the oak kitchen table, his forehead clean now, staring at a large wooden bowl of mixed greens I had placed before continue reading …