The Man in the Window
“Widow Malone. Old Widow Malone. Gracie walked alone in her yard on a late December day, trying on names like hats. A silly thing to be doing, just as it was silly to try on hats, as if there were such a thing as a perfect hat, one that truly suited and defined her above all the others. She rarely wore a hat, and she would never call herself the Widow Malone, though she’d been trying it on for months. No one was called the Widow anything anymore. When she was young, every other house seemed to b...e occupied by a widow—Widow Bunting, Widow Dalton, Widow Pitts. These were women who wore their widowhood well, who seemed, almost, to be born to it. As a child, that’s what Gracie assumed, that just as there were parents or brothers and sisters, there were widows, women who had always been as they were—alone, white-haired, and possessors of some undefined, scary, and magnificent secret. The secret, Gracie knew now, was grief, which was indeed scary, but in no way magnificent.
Why hadn’t the grief, the missing, shown on the faces of Widows Bunting, Dalton, and Pitts?MoreLess
Why hadn’t the grief, the missing, shown on the faces of Widows Bunting, Dalton, and Pitts?MoreLess
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