White Spots on My Cheeks Led to an Unwanted Contract

The heavy blue folder sat right next to the salt shaker, its brass brads catching the gray afternoon light.

Gary looked at the folder, then quickly turned his eyes toward the window.

He reached up to rub his left shoulder, his hand kneading the soft flannel of his shirt.

“Did Beatrice talk to you about the clinic?” I asked, setting down his mug of coffee.continue reading …