He was a stern, silver-haired stranger, wrapped in a dark wool coat so perfectly tailored it made my worn-out jacket look like a rag.
I knew him. Everyone in our town knew him. This was the father of Connie, a girl I’d gone to high school with. Back then, Connie was the sun; she was vibrant, sharp-tongued, and so full of life it hurt to look at her.continue reading …
