Grief and joy could live in the same backyard
She was standing at her window, watching.
Not glancing.
Watching, with that pinched, calculating expression I had come to know too well.
Katherine was the kind of woman who found something wrong with everything.
Last Christmas, she had marched over to complain about my porch.
« Those gnome decorations are tacky, » she had told me flatly. « They lower the tone of the entire street. »
She was standing at her window, watching.
I had only smiled and thanked her for the feedback.
Then, just last month, it was my roses.
Continue on the next page:
