The microphone smelled like pennies and possibility.
Clara Whitfield stood behind it on the studio floor at WBNY and tried not to think about the engagement ring in her purse, or the letter from Richard Vandermeer's father that sat on her kitchen table at home, detailing wedding date options in the kind of handwriting that suggested the man who wrote it had never once had to improvise in his life. "Whenever you're ready, Miss Whitfield," said the...
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