Steel Windows Highland | Park ((top))

One April evening, a spring squall tore through Highland Park like a fist. The wind screamed under the eaves. Elena sat on the floor of the dining room, flashlight in hand, listening to the house groan. Then came a sound like a breaking cello string—a sharp, resonant ping from the front parlor.

“I know,” Elena said.

She found a welder in Waukegan, a third-generation German metalworker who looked at the broken latch like a surgeon examining a patient. “AK,” he said, running his thumb over the initials. “My great-uncle.” He repaired it for the cost of the gas. steel windows highland park