36 Pearl Street

By T.S. Krupa

Josephine 'Joey' Kaminski has already been to 9 different high schools. She has been a Cougar - twice, Jaguar - twice, Wildcat, Spartan, Rams, Husky, and a Falcon when her and her mom move to 36 Pearl Street in New Haven, Connecticut before the start of her senior year. Joey's mom has been a chronic dater ever since her dad died, the only problem is that when the relationship goes sideways, as it always does, they end up moving. So, when her mom starts dating, boyfriend #10 (she stopped learning their names a long time ago), Joey knows it can only end one way.

  

The difference this time? She doesn't want to move. Joey has befriended, Pani Mazurek the feisty and straight-talking Polish grandmother that lives below her and owns the building. After Joey sneaks out her window to smoke a cigarette, she comes across Pani Mazurek in her garden. What Joey thought was an innocent question, leads to Pani Mazurek telling her a story about the Nazi's and the real reason for hating tomatoes. Pani Mazurek takes Joey in, feeds her, finds her a job, and becomes a constant in her life that was otherwise filled with only fictional characters from her books. Pani Mazurek tells Joey stories her own family has long since forgotten – stories from the World War II and how she survived. 

 

Another reason not to move? Pani Mazurek's brown eyed, curly haired grandson. It wasn't swoon at first sight, but it was close. Then she meets Lauren, his cousin - a beer drinking, cigarette smoking, cheerleader which a knack for getting into trouble. The three of them form a bond, that makes them inseparable except for when Lauren is grounded, which is always. 

 

Joey never realized how one moment, in this case one address, could change your life. Before she steps foot into her new school for her first day of her senior year, she already knows it will be unlike any school she had started before. Joey finds a community she never had but always knew she wanted thanks to Pani Mazurek. A sudden accident threatens everything Joey has learned about herself and the community she has built around her. 

 

36 Pearl Street tells the story about an unlikely pair. A seventeen-year-old teenager, with an emotionally unstable mom and an 80-year-old World War II survivor and how they each save each other. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Avalon Haddam Press
• Release date: Aug 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223112631

T.S. Krupa

T.S. Krupa was born in New Haven, Connecticut. Raised in a Polish household with a blended American culture, she is fluent in Polish. She graduated with her bachelor’s degree from Franklin Pierce University, where she also played field hockey. She earned her Master’s from Texas Tech University and graduated with her Doctor of Education from North Carolina State University. She lives in North Carolina with her husband and two dogs. The Ten Year Reunion is her third novel. To learn more about T.S. Krupa and her other works, visit www.tskrupa.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

It was a blistering hot summer day. I could feel the sweat sliding down the back of my leg as I struggled to grip the large brown box I was carrying. The corner of the box was partially ripped, most likely from the last time we moved. As the contents of the box shifted, something pointy was now digging into my palm. I sighed and tried to adjust my grip only for the box to completely slip out of my hands and crash onto the sidewalk. I stood there contemplating whether it was worth even picking back up when my mom came outside. Her long thin brown hair was down her back meeting the top of her jeans. Her jeans were loose and torn but mostly from age not from any fashion statement she was trying to make. Her t-shirt sported a vintage band from her youth and was thin from years of wash and wear, and it looked like she remembered to wear a bra, for once. She squinted in my direction and gave me a smile with her signature red lipstick flawlessly applied but the wrinkles in her forehead gave away her worry.

Joey, are you okay honey? she said coming towards me.

The box just broke, I whined making no attempt to pick it up.

You know this was last minute, we didn’t have time to get new boxes, she said now moving past me toward the bed of our blue pickup truck for another box.

It’s always last minute, I mumbled under my breath. Still avoiding the box, I looked up at our new home, 36 Pearl Street. It was our fourth new home this year and given that it was July - a record even for us. It was a three-story multi-family home. We were moving into the second-floor apartment. The outside looked to have been originally white but was now gray in color due to the dirt and grime collected on the exterior. The first two floors had bay windows that jutted out from the front of the building in symmetry. It was nestled between two drastically different buildings. On the left was a row of five, three-story red brick town homes. All outward appearances pointed towards newer construction. On the right was a Victorian era multi-family home. From the two front doors, I would guess at least six families lived in the peach home with the green roof. Our whitish building was shorter than its neighbors and was separated by a narrow sidewalk leading to a small backyard. In truth, it was one of the nicer places mom had found us to live recently.

Joey, pick up the box and get moving. We only have a couple more to go, Mom commented walking by me again with another box.

We only had a dozen or so to begin with, I mumbled back. This move was different than the rest. We only packed what we could fit in the truck, leaving behind most all our furniture and the few household decorations we had. Mom said the previous landlord gave her two grand for our all our things which covered the gas, tolls, and first month’s rent.

When we started moving around, Mom used to say we were moving ‘to a better neighborhood,’ ‘better city,’ ‘better school;’ and then it was ‘more affordable,’ ‘better job,’ or ‘new job,’ but even those reasons had stopped. We had been residents of Georgia, South Carolina, Tennessee, and most recently North Carolina. There were a few moves we stayed in the same town and I did not even have to change schools. So it was surprising this time when she announced we were moving to New Haven, Connecticut. It was much further north than our previous moves. At first Mom joked it would be closer to Yale for me, but we both knew I was not going to college. We could not afford it. As with all the other moves, I just smiled and nodded and started packing. I used to protest the moves, but the truth was I didn’t mind them anymore. I didn’t have to bother making any friends at any of my schools because, chances were, we would be gone within a couple months. At each school, most people left me alone but there was always one teacher or student that tried to take me on as a project or ‘help me get connected’ but it never lasted. It didn’t matter, I had been to nine high schools in three years. I was used to making myself as invisible as quickly as possible and then quietly exiting. I doubt a dozen people remembered my name at any of those schools.

Joey.

What? I snapped back.

The box.

I’m getting there, I snapped back again, looking back at the box.

Manners.

Whatever, I mumbled, leaning over to try and pick up the box one more time. Letting out a grunt and tightly gripping the box, I lifted it up and shuffled towards the house. I managed the three concrete stairs and stepped into the entryway before the box began to slip from my grip, again. Using the wall and my knee, I tried to grip the box from a new angle. I looked over my shoulder at the tall staircase that was looming next. The entryway was dark but I could make out the dark red wooden banister and dark green carpeting covering the stairs. Steading myself, I moved as quickly as I could up the stairs before I dropped the box. Once inside the apartment, I put the box by the front door with an unceremonious ‘oomph.’

Joey, can you get the last two boxes? my mom called from somewhere in the apartment.

Sure, I commented heading to the kitchen instead. I pulled the refrigerator door open and found my half empty soda from a gas station somewhere in New Jersey. It was mostly flat but at least it was cold.

Joey, boxes, my mom said coming into the kitchen with a handful of pots and pans.

I’m going.

Go faster, we don’t want anyone to steal our stuff.

One look and they would put it back, I commented slurping my soda.

Joey, I know you’re upset we had to leave some stuff behind…

Some stuff? Mom, we left everything, I said cutting her off.

Think of this as a fresh start… new beginning.

How many new beginnings do we get?

Joey, just go get the boxes, she said with a sigh.

Fine, I said taking one last gulp of my soda before setting it on the counter and going back down to the truck. The last two boxes weren’t as heavy and I was able to get them up to the apartment with no problem.

The apartment was small but came fully furnished. The living room had two burgundy red sofas that were detailed with a cream vine pattern. There was a standard coffee table and end tables with two ceramic lamps. Off the living room to the left was a short hallway that lead to the front bedroom. It was a large room with a bay window and view of the street. The bedroom had a few built-in bookcases and parquet floors. Back through the living room on the right was a modest kitchen. It had your standard sink under a window, oven, and fridge. No dishwasher and few cabinets but it did come with a kitchen table and three chairs. Off the kitchen was a door to a big second-story deck with a view of the backyard and garden. Beyond the yard was a large black concrete lot separated from our yard by a chain link fence. My bedroom was off the kitchen. It had a burgundy carpet and two white built-in bookcases and a decent closet. Each bedroom had a full-size bed with one bedside table and lamp. The walls were all painted a creme color. My bedroom did have two windows - one had a view of the peach Victorian next door. I felt I could reach out and almost touch the building, we were so close. The other window was over the deck and overlooked the garden in the backyard.

Mom?

Yes?

Where is the bathroom in this place? I wondered as I came out of my room.

Well, we have to share, she stammered.

We always have to share. Every one of the last six or seven places we had shared a bathroom which wasn’t that unusual. Typically, she was working a different shift than my school schedule and it was rarely a problem. The problem was sharing with her boyfriend of the week. They were all gross and highly opposed to any type of hygiene or hand washing.

It’s in the front bedroom.

The only bathroom is in your bedroom? I questioned, walking into her bedroom. She pointed to a small door in the left corner.

I thought that was the closet door.

I don’t actually have a closet.

My closet is actually pretty decent, I said walking into the bathroom. It was pale blue - everywhere. The tub, tiles, sink, and wall color were pale blue. Looks like a little bit of North Carolina followed us here.

What was that honey? she said coming up behind me.

Nothing, Mom.

We will make it work, we always do Joey, she said kissing the top of my head and walking back out to the bedroom.

What are you gonna do without a closet? I asked leaning against the door frame of the bathroom.

I was going to use these bookcases for most of my clothes. I don’t really have anything that needs hanging. It will be fine, she smiled in my direction. Mom always saw the positive side in everything. She trusted blindly and never saw a glass that was half empty in her life which was probably why we were in the constant state of motion and moving. Always chasing that ‘next opportunity.’

Okay, I’m going to see if I left my book in the truck, I commented not really expecting a response.

Oh, let me go with you, I need to give the landlady a check. Mom and I walked down the flight of stairs and she turned to go to the first-floor apartment, and I went out to the truck. One of mom’s ex-boyfriends, I think it was boyfriend number five, was a bit of a car nut. He was always talking cars, tinkering with his ‘vintage’ truck, or reading one of the hundreds of car magazines he left around the apartment. One day he just split in the middle of the night and left the truck behind. I always thought it was just old, but mom spoke of the car as if it were a rare treasure, saying it was in mint condition for a 1978 F-150 Ford Ranger truck. Whatever the status of the truck, it sat in our driveway for weeks as mom waited for him to return for her or it. Eventually, her car broke down and we needed transportation, so she taught herself how to drive a stick shift. Mom found out later through a woman she worked with that the boyfriend had been picked up for violating his parole and was going to be otherwise busy for a couple years. She had at friend at the DMV and was able to get the truck in her name and has been driving it ever since. I was skeptical it was going to get us to our current destination, but it did. I sighed looking at the truck as I opened the passenger side door looking for my book. It wasn’t in the seat, so I felt around on the floor and in the glove compartment. I found mom’s sunglasses she was complaining about losing but not my book.

Joey, come here, I heard mom calling. I looked up and saw her standing in the entry way to the building. She was standing with an older woman. She was heavier set and from what I could tell she had shoulder length gray hair that was swept back in a bandanna. She had a round face with a set of large glasses pushed up on the bridge of her nose, paired with a flowing frock as she rested on a cane.

What’s up? I said, coming closer after giving up the search for my book.

This is Pani Mazurek, she said stepping aside as I came up the stairs.

Pani? Is that Spanish? I asked in confusion.

No, it’s Polish, honey, she said suddenly fidgeting. You should know that.

Why should I know that?

You always talk to your mother like this? the woman said in a heavy accent.

Why is it your business? I shot back.

Joey, manners. Mom got a little edge to her voice - I took a deep breath and forced a smile.

I’m Joey, I finally said extending my hand. Pani Mazurek made no move to shake my hand but instead studied me closely. I could see her eyes moving up and down before she narrowed her eyes.

Joey is a boy’s name, she said when she finally spoke.

That’s a rude thing to say, I replied without thinking.

That’s not her real name, it’s a nickname, my mom interjected with a nervous laugh.

What’s your full name? Pani Mazurek asked looking directly at me.

Josephine Kaminski, Mom answered as if the question were directed at her.

Josephine good girl’s name, strong. I repressed the sudden urge to stick my tongue out like I was six. I just crossed my arms across my chest. After several long seconds, Pani Mazurek finally spoke.

Ella, welcome to Pearl Street.

Don’t you mean welcome to New Haven or Connecticut? I questioned unable to bite my tongue any longer.

No, I said what I mean, Pani Mazurek replied before turning and slowly walking back down the hallway to her apartment.

Ella? I questioned. Mom, no one calls you that, everyone calls you El.

Well, I’m trying something new, she huffed and turned to walk up the stairs.

Mom, what gives? First you expect me to know some obscure Polish prefix and then out of the blue you’re suddenly going by your full name?

Do you remember Mrs. Brodjeck? she asked. I mulled the name over for a minute.

Was she the lady you worked with at the diner? Mom shook her head no.

Was she the lady you worked with at the bank? Again, she shook her head no.

Was she the elderly lady you watched in the evening?

Nope.

Oh, she was the lady that you cleaned houses with.

Yes, that’s her. She knew a lady who knows Pani Mazurek. When we were looking to leave North Carolina, I mentioned I was thinking of trying Connecticut and Mrs. Brodjeck called in a favor. She said she knew a place, furnished in a good neighborhood, reasonable rent, but only rents to Polish people.

So, you lied?

I didn’t lie, we are Polish. Well, your dad was. He grew up in Connecticut not too far from here, remember?

I didn’t know that about dad, I said trying to rack my memories for any stories about Connecticut, but I came up empty.

Mom, we are Polish in name only. We know nothing about being Polish. Say one thing in Polish, I said undeterred from my original point. We were back in the apartment and I stood with my hand on my hip waiting for her response.

I now know that Pani is Mrs., she replied sheepishly.

Mom, you lied.

Joey, we needed a clean start and this was promising. It is not a lie…it’s just a bit of a stretch. Mrs. Brodjeck also got me a job interview with the Catholic school around the corner. It is an administrative position and will have benefits. It will be good for us.

Sure thing, Pani Kaminski, I snickered as I headed into my room and shut the door.

Come on Joey, don’t be like that, she called after me.

New life, new me…for now, I mumbled to myself as I pulled open a box looking for my missing book.

Chapter Two

The next day mom left to go for her job interview leaving me alone in the apartment. It was just after lunch and it was already warming up in the small apartment. Sweat beaded on the small of my back even after I tried to sit as still as possible. Bored, I walked into mom’s bedroom. She still had several boxes on the floor left to unpack. Her bed was neatly made and most of her clothes lined the bookcase on the wall. In the bathroom, she had her make-up on the counter, her wet towel was on the floor next to the blow dryer. I bent over to pick up the towel and I saw the small pack of cigarettes sticking out from underneath the sink. I looked closer and it looked like she had taped them to the bottom of the sink. It was a habit that boyfriend number four got her hooked on. She thought she was hiding her habit from me, but she was never good at keeping secrets. I pulled out one of the cigarettes and tucked it behind my ear. I brushed my teeth and then went to my room and rummaged through my purse until I found my lighter. Grabbing my book which I finally found last night, I opened the window in my room and climbed out onto the deck. I could have used the door, but it was more of a habit than anything.

There was not a cloud in the sky as I sat down on the deck. Leaning against the house I lit the cigarette and took a long drag. I didn’t particularly love the taste, but it was something to do. I closed my eyes and just took a deep breath. It was hard to relax, a lot had happened in the last couple days. Just last week I was working my job at a local restaurant in Durham that had been within walking distance from our apartment. We had a ground level apartment on the edge of town where things started to get a little weird. It was always quiet during the day and noisy at night. Most nights my ear plugs did not help with the shouting, constant dog barking, and occasional gunshot. On Thursday, Mom had come home a little after nine with her most current fling, boyfriend number nine. I do not know if they had been drinking prior to returning but I could hear the clinking of glasses as I pulled the pillow tighter over my head. About an hour later their voices started rising and within ten or fifteen minutes they were shouting. I crawled over to the edge of my bed and opened my window and crawled out. I sat down cross-legged on the cool pavement with my back to the building and took in a ragged breath. I wanted to believe that if we lived in a better neighborhood someone would have called the police but in this neighborhood it did not matter. If it wasn’t them it would have been someone else screaming, shouting, and carrying on. I remember wishing I had a cigarette that night while sitting out in the dark. I must have fallen asleep because someone coughing in the distance woke me. I stood and stuck my head inside and it seemed quiet. I climbed back in through the window and quietly shut it. I was getting comfortable in bed when I suddenly felt I was not alone. I felt around the edge of my bed for my flashlight that I used to read at night and instead I came across a hand. I pulled back immediately and stifled a scream.

Joey, it’s me, Mom mumbled.

Mom, what are you doing on the floor?

We got into a fight.

Really, you don’t say, I smarted off and instantly regretted it.

Sorry we woke you, she sniffled, and it was only then that I could tell she had been crying.

Mom, get off the floor, I said shuffling over in bed near the wall. It looked like she struggled getting up, but she eventually made it off the floor into bed. She did not say anything further and soon I could feel her deep breaths next to me. Once I knew she was asleep, I inched closer to her and cuddled up in the crook of her arm.

In the morning, I saw the bruises. Her left eye was swollen, and her legs has four large marks on the thigh area. It was not the first time I had seen something like this. Boyfriend number two and possibly six had also been abusive. Boyfriend number two was gone quickly after it happened, and we never spoke of him again. Boyfriend number six was around longer, and I never saw anything, but I would hear things at night to make me believe otherwise. I also did not buy my mother trying to make a wool turtleneck work in late April in the South. The morning after her fight, mom iced her eye and nursed her hangover with a cup of coffee, I cleaned up the broken lamp from the living room. I had peeked into her room and his things appeared to be gone. Twenty-four hours later she would announce that we were moving.

I was brought back to my new reality with the sweet melody of a violin. I looked over to the left towards the brick townhomes and I did not see anything. I peered over to the peach Victorian home. I could see a window open on the third floor and a woman with long black hair seated with a violin near the window. Her fingers were fast and furious, and she swayed her whole body as she played. The sounds were urgent and made my heartbeat quicken. I stood trying to get a better look while taking another drag of the cigarette as she played. Down in the yard I could see Pani Mazurek slowly crossing the yard, instantly I sat back down and tried to hide myself. Half of the backyard was a concrete slab, but the back half of the yard looked like a a vast garden of greenery and pops of color had been created. She dragged a small wooden basket through a small wire gate. She shuffled around mini pathways that I had previously not noticed until she sat down on a wooden stool. With speed that surprised me she was pulling something off a vine-like plant. I sat there and listened to the wistful sounds of the violin while keeping an eye on Pani Mazurek as I finished my cigarette. Finally done, I put it out on the small piece of flashing that jutted out from the side of the house, and with my back to the wall, I opened my book and read while the sound of the violin continued to play in the background.

I must have fallen asleep because I woke up lying on the deck with The Secret History by Donna Tartt, pressed into the side of my face. I leaned over and ran my hand over my legs wincing over my new sunburn. The sun was now sinking slowly behind the tall buildings casting shadows that previously didn’t exist. As I sat up, I could hear voices down in the yard. Unapologetically, I turned over, so I was lying on my stomach facing the voices in the yard. Slowly, I inched towards the edge of the deck to see what was going on. As I peeked over the edge, I saw Pani Mazurek still in her garden. A dark ring now appeared around her neckline and visible sweat glistened on her face.

Babcia, come on, a tall boy with dark moppy hair said while standing by the small gate. Pani Mazurek replied but I was unable to understand her response. I also made a mental note to look up ‘babcia’ and get a Polish American dictionary as soon as possible, simply because I was nosy.

I left the package on the kitchen table. I was going to stop by the deli do you need anything? he said, sticking his hands into his front pockets as he rocked back onto his heels. Again, Pani Mazurek replied but I couldn’t understand what she was saying.

I can get you the deli meat but remember last time. You thought Jan was selling expired meats and you refused to speak to him or set foot in the store for months. He still has hurt feelings over it, he replied. For a moment I was confused on who was the adult in the conversation. Pani Mazurek again spoke but waved her hands in the air in frustration.

Tata said that I wasn’t allowed to leave until you were back inside, the boy spoke again. Pani Mazurek stood in frustration waving her arms and speaking quickly. The boy opened the gate and waited as Pani Mazurek shuffled out. He took the basket from her which now overflowed with greens. As they made their way back across the yard, I studied the boy. He was older than I thought, looked to be more my age at seventeen or eighteen. He seemed tall but compared to Pani Mazurek who was shorter and hunched over, it was hard to tell. He was slender but fit and a farmer’s tan could be seen as his shirt shifted when he walked. Pani Mazurek continued to speak to him and he would just nod in response. The pair soon rounded the corner and disappeared into her apartment. I was just about to pick up my book again when I could hear my mother calling me from inside the apartment.

You have been gone awhile, I commented as I settled at the kitchen table.

I had a job interview, my mom replied as way of explanation.

Yeah, like four hours ago.

Well after my job interview, Mrs., I mean Pani Dudek, I mean Gladys, gave me a small tour of the neighborhood. To help me orient myself.

Another Pani?

Yes, another Pani, we are in a predominately Polish neighborhood. You had better get used to it. We need to blend in, be part of the neighborhood.

Yeah, whatever. Did you get the job? I asked as I fidgeted pushing my book back and forth from hand to hand on the table.

As a matter of fact, I did. Thought we would go out to celebrate.

That’s awesome, Mom.

Where are we going?

There is a pizza place two blocks from here, apparently famous for its pizza - - been around for eighty years, she commented seemingly amazing herself with the information. After that I got up to change for dinner as mom announced she was going to freshen up. I took that as code for she was going to smoke a cigarette and knew that it would be another fifteen minutes until we would leave for dinner which let me finish another chapter in my book.

When mom was finally freshened up, we walked down to street level. She indicated we were going to the end of the block and taking a left. As we slowly walked up the block, Mom pointed to a corner deli.

This is the only Polish deli on this side of town. Gladys says they sell really good fresh bread, but the deli meat is a little hit or miss.

Let me guess, a guy named Jan? I questioned practically rolling my eyes in her direction.

Yes, how did you know?

Lucky guess, I commented back. As we reached the corner, I peeked inside the store window. Per the store hours sign on the door they were getting ready to close. Inside I could see the boy with the brown moppy hair standing at the counter. I had an urge to laugh about the situation but stifled the feeling as mom steered me in the direction of pizza.

Chapter Three

The next day, I sat at the kitchen table shuffling my book in my hands as mom busied herself around the kitchen. She wore a clean pair of black slacks, a white button-up shirt, and her hair down with her signature red lips. Uncharacteristically, I could tell she was wearing more foundation and coverup around her eye than normal to hide the remaining yellow and green coloring. I had always envied how her skin was always flawless as I could feel a blemish start to erupt on my chin.

What hours are you working? I asked making small talk. I was just waiting for mom to leave so I could crawl back into bed.

Normally it’s 7:30 a.m. to 4 p.m., Monday through Friday.

Cool.

Listen, Joey, I need you to go to the grocery store and get us some food.

You know I hate driving the truck, I whined

Joey, it’s not as bad as you think it is - - you just need more practice.

Mom, we have been over this, driving just isn’t my thing. I’m happy walking or just staying home.

Well listen, I’ll be walking to work most days so you will have more access to the truck, more access means more practice. She nudged me with her elbow as she passed by.

I’ll take it under advisement, I replied, glaring in her direction.

I also need you to enroll yourself in high school, she said in the very next breath.

What’s the point we are just going to move again. I was thinking about just taking the GED.

Joey, it’s your senior year! It will be fun, so many wonderful milestones. Also, I have a good feeling about this move. I think we will be here awhile.

Define awhile, I mumbled to myself when mom turned her back to finish making coffee. With that she gave me a couple more instructions, put $60 on the counter for food, and was out the door. The clock in the kitchen indicated it was 7:15. Last night at dinner mom said that her new job was only a block and half away on foot. She seemed rather excited to save the money on gas as well as get some fresh air every day. I stood and shuffled my way back into my bedroom. I curled up under the comforter and opened my book and once again began to lose myself in its pages. Soon, my eyelids were just starting to droop when the sound of the violin startled me wide awake. Yesterday it was a welcome and serene sound, today it was like nails on a chalk board keeping me awake. I rolled over and pulled my pillow over my head, which did nothing to block the sound. It was as if she were in my room serenading me with a personal concert. It did not help that the windows were opened to let in a breeze. In frustration I threw back the covers and headed to mom’s room. Once there the sounds of the violin were just as prevalent. Like a two-year-old, I stomped my foot in frustration. Heading into the bathroom, I took another cigarette out of my mom’s stash, tucking it behind my ear. Back in my room, I threw on a pair of ripped jean shorts and a ripped tank top. Unlike my mother, my clothes were ripped more as a fashion statement than simple wear-and-tear. Again, I opened my window and sat on the deck. The melodies of the violin floated to where I sat only causing me to grind my teeth. Barefoot, I padded down the wooden and iron steps to the backyard.

The yard was bigger now that I was standing in it rather than observing it from above. I could see a clothesline that ran parallel to the back of the house and a few items that hung from the line that I hadn’t noticed yesterday. As I followed the