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My father stood up at the lake house dinner and raised his glass in fr…

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at the lake house, something settled.

It was not anger. Anger is hot. Anger asks to be heard.

This was cooler than that.

It was the sharp, clean click of a door unlocking from the inside.

I looked down at my glass. It was a Riesling my mother had bought at Vineyard Select in Waterford for fourteen dollars a bottle because she said it was “nice enough for continue reading …

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