Yellow Ceramic Mug and Red Silk Scarf in a Red Buick

“I want you to leave, Julian,” I said, pointing toward the back door.

“Think about it, Clara,” he said, using my first name for the first time in his life. “You have until November twelve.”

He let the screen door slam behind him, the sound vibrating through the small room.

I stood by the stove until the kettle began to whistle, its high pitch filling continue reading …