Jerusalem Moore Novel Novels & Stories

Dominic said in a strained voice. Neither of us was expecting her. Mrs. Moore looked as regal and out of touch as when I first met her at Thanksgiving. She wore a heavy fur coat that hid her petite body and oversized bubble-like sunglasses that spread over her face. She also had a nice tan, which was un-typical if you lived here during winter since clouds always covered the sun. Mrs. Moore must have returned from a much sunnier and warmer place. Dominic’s mother stayed under the doorframe as she studied the room they brought her in, and I saw her pull away her black leather gloves with deep sighs of disapproval.

In Harford City, the sky was overcast—a dull, heavy gray that mirrored the solemnity of the day. The air carried the scent of incense and fresh flowers, clinging to everything like a memory refusing to fade. The Moore family stood before the twin graves of Benjamin and Vivianne Moore. The marble headstones were tall, pristine, unyielding. Their names carved into stone remained untouched by time, yet they had shaped every second of Grayson’s life.