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

decades building. She was, Carol said, hiding. Too mortified to appear where people who had been in that room might see her. But also, Carol thought, doing something more than hiding. Sitting with something.

Emma went back to school. She kept making things, spreading paper and markers across the kitchen table on weekday evenings, working on cards and continue reading …