While I Was at Lunch With My Daughter My Neighbor Called and Asked Why Someone Was Loading Boxes From My House

and who took the boy in with a steadiness that reminded me of Catherine. I see him every Sunday. I take him to the park where there is a fountain he likes to throw pennies into. I tell him stories about his grandmother, about the woman who would have loved him with a ferocity that would have astonished him, who made pot roast from a recipe she memorized continue reading …