Arthur Nelson Protected His Wyoming Mountain Cabin with a Trust

“We cannot take this without paying,” I said, adjusting the silver buckle of my belt as the wind caught my hair. “We have twenty-four hundred dollars left in the emergency cash reserve, and that has to cover the veterinarian’s fee next month.” “This grain was paid for three weeks ago,” Tom said, his voice flat…

At eleven o’clock, the smell of fresh, wet latex paint filled the room. I dipped the roller into the plastic tray, watching the thick, dark grey paint cling to the nap. I pressed the roller against the pastel pink wall, making a long, vertical stroke that completely covered the painted birds. The pastel pink disappeared…

The raw, pink irritation from the razor was entirely gone, replaced by an even layer of soft silver stubble that caught the bright morning light. It felt like the pelt of some resilient winter animal when I ran my palm over the crown, warm and strangely prickled. There was no shadow of the wig remaining…

We have the fresh apple butter today, Arthur, Henry said. I made sure they brought a jar up from the basement. Bring it on out, Henry, Arthur said. The store-bought stuff doesn’t have any spice to it. Carter watched them talk, the easy banter of two men who had known each other for twenty years…

I let go of the last corner just as the flame reached my fingertips, letting it drop into the grass. The black ashes of the photograph drifted into the dark grass. By eight o’clock Tuesday morning, the dew was still heavy on the broken green ribs of the sunflower stalks. Patrick stood at the edge…

I nodded, my thumb brushing the silver ring on my left hand. “He left a small cedar box in the back room,” Frank said, reaching under the counter. “He said it was for your table.” He placed a small wooden box on the glass counter, its lid carved with a simple border of oak leaves….