One Scrap of Paper from Oak Creek Hospital Rewrote Thirty-Four Years of What My Family Remembered
“Hello, Mara,” Tim said, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose.
“Gene said you might come by for that framed picture from the 1968 grand opening.”
“Where did he put it?” I asked, stopping by the glass hardware display case.
“Back hallway, behind the bolt bins,” Tim said, jerking a thumb toward the dark corridor at the back of the store.
“Gene had me clean out the extra filing cabinets in the back office yesterday afternoon.”
I walked down the main hardware aisle, my rubber-soled boots silent on the worn pine floorboards.
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