My Father Tossed a Blue Savings Passbook into the Mud at Cedar Ridge
Gregory sighed and capped his pen.
He drummed his fingers on the table.
“The lawyer needs this filed by Friday morning,” he said.
“Then I’ll read it tonight,” I said.
Gregory stood up and walked toward the kitchen doorway.
I followed him out into the narrow hall.
He stopped by the coat rack and looked at my scuffed winter boots sitting on the mat.
“You’re making this much harder than it needs to be,” he said.
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