After Three Years In My Bakery He Tried To Sell It Behind My Back

later, we met at a diner in Watertown. Vinyl booths, bottomless coffee, laminated menus. My father arrived in his wool overcoat and looked deeply uncomfortable.

He said he was sorry.

No preamble. No defense.

“I believe you’re sorry,” I said.

His face changed. Hope, quick and dangerous.

“But I don’t trust you.”

The hope dimmed.

“You’re used to apology as resolution,continue reading …