The Easter Dinner Where I Stayed Silent—and The Invitation That Spoke For Me

top drawer of my desk. The ammunition was racked. I just needed a target.

Easter Sunday arrived with the schizophrenic weather typical of Oregon April—hail in the morning, blinding sun by noon.

Meredith’s house was a shrine to consumerism. The table was set with linen napkins and a centerpiece involving ceramic rabbits. My mother was in peak performance continue reading …