Since his wife died, Earl always made a tomato sandwich on the third Saturday of August— her canning day.
White toast, mayo, salt, too much pepper.
That Saturday, their daughter, Linette, came again, wanting him to sell his house and move in with them.
“I’ll think on it.”
After she left, he sliced a Cherokee Purple and set the plate on the table while he rinsed the knife.
When he turned back, there were two sandwiches.
One cut his way; straight. The other diagonal.
He stared a long time, then ate the diagonal one.
Later he called Linette.
“I’m staying here.”
That said so much in 100 words!
awwwww