The Misdelivered Secret Between Arthur and the Girl Next Door

room smelled of lemon polish and old paper. My late wife, Helen, had kept it that way. Even seven years gone, I still polished the end tables every Thursday because she would have noticed dust.

Her photograph watched me from the mantel.

She wore her blue church dress in that photo.

The one with pearl buttons.

The one she said made her look like a blueberry continue reading …