Behind the Venue, My Husband Handed Me a Scrapbook Pulled From the Dumpster

whatever mess surrounded it. The way she said the word homemade with a faint, almost imperceptible contraction of her nostrils, as though the word carried a smell.

But that morning, standing in our driveway with Emma’s plastic storage bin between us and her breath making small clouds in the December air, I still wanted to believe this time would be continue reading …