Fifteen Years After My Father Changed the Locks, He Seated Me at Table Twenty-Two
Stamped across the middle in dry red ink were the official postal words refused by addressee.
I held the faded paper under the yellow light of my desk lamp.
Below the red postal stamp, two words were written across the paper in thick, heavy block letters.
Do not write.
The handwriting was clear.
The sharp slant on the letter D matched the bold signature Gerald put at the bottom of every insurance contract at Ulette Insurance on Main Street.
I smoothed the edge of the paper against the desk blotter.