I didn’t really have a choice, I had to leave. And while I was gone, things got worse for Mary and Momma. The paper mill shut down, and all the work left with it. It always smacked ironic to me . . . all that paper being made so folks could take home paper, head for the bank, trade it for other paper, and then send it off here and there to settle accounts, all wrapped in paper. Seemed like there’d never not be a need for that mill with all that paper going back and forth. But I reckon somebody smarter than me decided they’d rather get their paper somewhere other than Millwood. I betcha a stack of green bills they sent a paper notice to shut her down.
After a busy week it’s nice to return to the ongoing saga of Frank Sinatra Lonergan, a serial story I’m honored to be writing alongside my friends at The Collective. Pick up the rest of my section here, or start from the beginning.