A Stranger Left an Envelope Beside My Bed on My Sixty-Second Birthday—Then I Found His Photograph with My Son
“We did.
And we have work to do.”
Frank fetched the shovels.
He had returned most of the earlier nine hundred dollars, keeping only the expenses we’d agreed on.
I had tried to argue with him about the hours he had spent helping.
He said I could make soup occasionally, and we left it there.
Brenda held a rose upright while I settled soil around its roots.
We worked slowly.