Gone Wireless by Marian Brooks

My Granddaughter, Anna, tells me that she speaks to my father every night on her toy cellular phone. This is a surprise to me because Anna is three and my father has been dead for thirty-nine years. When I ask what they talk about, she says, “It’s a secret." She plugs her mouth with a thumb. When Anna turns her back, I pick up the little pink phone and whisper, “Dad?"


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