An Unopened Medical File From a Colorado Lake House Clinic

gravel of the driveway.

She began smoothing her cream-colored linen skirt over her thighs, her fingers moving in quick, practiced strokes that never seemed to stop.

“I was just looking at my old bike,” I said.

“That thing is ancient,” she said, her voice rising to that high, fluttery pitch she used whenever she wanted to finish a conversation continue reading …