The Distant Summer
The tremor in my left hand is a small, persistent betrayal, a spasm that turns the neat, serifed signature I have used for twenty years into a jagged, childish scrawl. I am forty-two, a senior archivist at the St. Jude’s Historical Society, and in exactly three weeks the board of trustees will vote on my permanent tenure, a vote that feels less like a professional milestone and more like a...
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