had started everything: tarnished.
My father had used it like a condemnation, as if I’d smeared a silver family heirloom with fingerprints. But silver doesn’t tarnish from the wrong people touching it. It tarnishes when it’s left in the dark, untouched, unexamined, hidden away and never used.
Maybe I hadn’t tarnished the Harrison name. Maybe I’d just continue reading …
