Bikers Were Painting My Dead Mother’s House Pink At 4AM And I Didn’t Know Any Of Them

day I told myself I’d deal with it later.

But now it was the only one left.

I sat on the new bench under the oak tree. The pink house glowed in the late afternoon light. The rosebushes wouldn’t bloom until spring, but they were in the ground. Alive. Waiting.

I unfolded the list one more time. Went to the bottom.

23. This one is for Claire. If she comes home.continue reading …
    

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