"Then, early Monday morning, Siggy and I woke to a windstorm that generously deposited half a willow tree against the side of our house..."Read More
"But what’s the half-life of any joy? At the end of our honeymoon, he dropped me off down the street from my house, brushed his mouth against my forehead and became a memory. My parents and sisters had already figured I was dead or kidnapped and I remember feeling bothered by how quickly their relief turned to anger. The hospital took me back, with conditions, after I invented a dying relative. And the soldier dissolved into a cold bath of mistakes I’d probably make again..."Read More