Samuel Reed Kept an Old Wooden Bat Behind the Pantry Door for Twenty Years

She wrapped one arm around her middle and held the paper with the other.

“He never sent flowers when we were married,” she said.

I rubbed my left thumb against my index finger and looked at the check.

The date on it was November 12.

“You want me to take it inside?” I asked.

She looked at the carnations.

“They’re from the grocery store.

He used to say florists were a waste.”