Yellow Ceramic Mug and Red Silk Scarf in a Red Buick

late husband Arthur had thrown on his pottery wheel thirty years ago. The heavy clay felt warm against my palm, but when I looked past Julian at the wall, the custom sage-green paint I had mixed myself seemed oddly dull, as if the light in the room had shifted permanently.

“You need to replace that machine, Mother,” Julian said, his voice clipped and continue reading …