HE GAVE HIS MISTRESS MY PADDLE. HE FORGOT THE AUCTION HOUSE BELONGED TO ME

he called constantly.

Sometimes he was furious.

Sometimes apologetic.

Sometimes frighteningly tender.

He left messages about our first apartment in Boston, where the heat failed during our first winter.

He reminded me of the night we drove to Newport after my grandfather died and sat on the beach until sunrise.

He sent photographs of us from years when neither continue reading …