A Husband s Grief
short work in progress loosely modeled on personal loss I was painting when I received word, or more precisely cleaning up painting debris. Hands filled with paper towels and soiled brushes, I trudged to the door. I was annoyed at the persistent knocking, certain it was a salesperson or college student conducting a survey. I’m glad I’m not home to be bothered by this every week, I thought, reflecting on my vacation week schedule. I opened the door to see Elaine, my sister-in-law, dressed in...