My Granddaughter Asked Me to Stop Sending Her Father Money and to Follow Him

way you stare at something sacred, and it had contained a grocery store ingredient.

I swept the urn off the table. It clanged against the floor, hollow, and the sound of it was the ugliest thing I had ever heard.

I called Roger with hands that would not stop shaking.

“The urn,” I managed. “Roger. It’s coffee grounds.”

Silence on the line, and then his continue reading …