At 82, I Found

my privacy.”

Peter leaned against the workbench. “Dad.”

Frank slammed a rusty can into a trash bag. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything. I’m asking what’s going on.”

“Nothing is going on.”

“You’re writing to some woman from before Mom?”

Frank turned. “I had a life before your mother.”

Peter’s jaw tightened. “So did Mom.”

That stopped him.

“What?”

Peter continue reading …