A Tin of Old Photographs Revealed Why a Best Friend Kept Helping

o’clock, the sun was directly over Harold’s driveway, baking the hydrangeas until the blue petals looked like crumpled paper. I walked up the stone steps of his front porch, my office keys heavy in my left pocket.

Harold opened the door before I could knock. He was wearing his linen trousers, his hair combed straight back over his ears, and he immediately continue reading …