My Family Toasted

with snow.

He looked older than he had on Thanksgiving.

Not frail.

Just reduced.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

I stepped aside.

He entered my apartment and looked around like he expected evidence of betrayal on the walls.

My place was not large. Two bedrooms, west-facing windows, bookshelves, a kitchen island where I had built the first version of Harborline.continue reading …