The Red Door

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We never got to run with the bulls in Pamplona, or see our names in lights or in the opening credits, or find a solution to all the problems of the Universe, but by God, we enjoyed talking about everything Life had to offer . . .

God bless the butterflies.

William Granger Teachey

     MAY 15, 1930–JULY 25, 2008

November 1918, Hobson, Lancashire

She stood in front of the cheval glass, the long mirror that Peter had given her on their second anniversary, and considered herself. Her hair had faded from shimmering English fair to almost the color of straw, and her face was lined from working in the vegetable beds throughout the war, though she’d worn a hat and gloves. Her skin, once like silk—he’d always told her that—was showing faint lines, and her eyes, though still very blue, stared back at her from some other woman’s old face.

Four years—have I really aged that much in four years? she asked her image.

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