A Case for Wrongful Death
Connie rocked back and forth on the faded velvet sofa in her sister Lois’s living room. It was summer, 1940. “Maybe you’re wrong,” Lois said. “I missed twice. I never missed before.” “You might just be nervous, the wedding coming and all,” Lois said. “I threw up yesterday.” “See there? Could be nerves.” Connie reached over and clutched Lois’s arm. “Tell me what to do.” Lois was a married lady, her big sister. She’d know. “Have you told George?” Connie shook her head. Lois pulled her sister close and kissed her damp cheek. “Good. Wait ‘til after...
Read MoreTraitor
We find the stranger in our ark near East Fence. Me and Ada. Not a real ark, just some old rotted logs and pine branches for a roof. We set up inside after morning prayers. Pretend to off the infected. Patrol doesn’t come by in winter – too much mud – no one crazy enough to go over the mountains, not with all that snow and ice. No one except the stranger. Ada’s snuffling behind me, got the ear of her rag bunny stuffed inside her mouth. Sucking. Always sucking. I jam my long braid down the back of my jacket and squat near the front of the ark to get a better look. I’ve...
Read MoreSomewhere in the Night
Middle Georgia—Summer 1974 He had forgotten how long he had been traveling—or how far. It had all seemed a lot clearer back then when he first decided to come to see her, again. All that was involved was flying into Atlanta and then taking the bus down to Flat Rock—just a few hours at most. But somehow, somewhere along the line, everything changed. Maybe it changed after he heard her voice; as if everything up until that time had been little more than a lark, an escape—not from boredom, but from the burden of routine repetition—or maybe it was just because of simple curiosity. He...
Read MoreThose Unheard Are Sweeter
“Where do you go?” The question echoes in my mind as if sounding through a cavern. It’s annoying as an alarm clock. If I could only swat a snooze button and silence the interruption. “Dear,” my wife says with fading patience, “the Millers drove all this way to meet us, and you’re ignoring them.” I snap out of it and recognize Bailey’s Tabard Inn, the restaurant that my wife, Barbara, and I frequent. At the table sits another couple, Alison and Geoffrey Miller. I work with Geoff at the university. In fact, we share an office because we’re literature professors. He...
Read MoreThe Higher Learning
The road north from the University town passed among fields and pastures. Along the way were one or two gas stations and a cluster of modest homes built for returning World War II veterans. I especially remember the cows that roamed the pastures, often close to the road. But more important to me, the road was plied by motorists willing to give a hitch-hiking college boy a lift. I was easily identified as a student by my books. I carried a loose-leaf binder with my needed books hooked to it. In those days, textbooks were modest in design and easily carried. On this one particular evening,...
Read MoreBoth Sides Now
Thrice I jumped on the frozen river to make sure it was frozen, the river; so the kids would not fall into it and one by one freeze or be taken by the hard draft travelling. I could see it travelling its way down below, where my feet lay. Not only was I walking on thin ice, I was jumping and thumping all over it, but I was fine and it would be fine. It always was. Someone had to do it, and this someone was always Sally Marlow, ice rink and ice rink expeditions’ manager when Bo wasn’t there (and, see, Bo was never there). Once we were sure the ice was thick enough, the children got on...
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