Long serialized stories
The copper watering can slipped from Patrick’s fingers and hit the dirt with a dull clang. In the grey light before dawn, our annual patch of giant sunflowers lay ruined. Dozens of thick, hairy stalks had been sliced clean at the base, their heavy yellow heads scattered across the damp soil like dropped plates. I…
The blue diaper bag sat empty on the kitchen counter while Ryan zipped a brown leather duffel bag. I measured three scoops of powder into a plastic bottle, careful not to spill a single grain. A single can of infant formula cost thirty-six dollars now, and we went through four of them a week. “You…
The response card from Mason’s grandmother was the only one left on our kitchen table without a checkmark next to the beef or the chicken. It had been sitting near the ceramic sugar bowl for nine days, right next to our satin ribbon samples. I rolled my gold engagement ring around my finger, watching the…
David buttered his toast with the slow, deliberate precision he used when closing an incision. The silver butter knife slid across the crust without making a sound, leaving a perfectly level yellow layer. “The car keys were in the pantry again, Rachel,” he said. I paused, my hand resting near my coffee mug. I did…
My thumb kept moving against the band of my silver ring, turning it round and round until the skin underneath went red. Two blocks away, the municipal clock chimed twice, the low notes fading into the quiet of the empty car. If I started the engine now, I would arrive at the colonial house on…
The blue envelope from the electric company sat on the laminate counter, marked with a second late notice in red ink. My checking account held twenty-two dollars, and the low hum of the old refrigerator seemed to grow louder every time the sun went down. The phone on the kitchen counter rang at ten past…
The red ink on the demand letter from Broad Street Savings had smeared across Marcus’s thumb. It was the third notice in nine days, this one warning of an immediate freeze on his business line of credit for seventy-four thousand dollars. He laid the paper on our mattress, right beside the blue leather binder that…
The wet white lily in my hand was losing its petals to the damp grass before the minister finished the final prayer. The minister’s voice had been a low drone against the hum of the nearby highway. Sable, thirty-four, my daughter-in-law, was not looking at the casket. She was looking at the gold watches on…
The wooden leg of the crib lay across the lavender carpet, its pre-drilled holes slightly misaligned. I sat on the floor with my palm flat against my lower back, holding a small silver screw that did not seem to fit any of the joints of the two-hundred-and-eighty-nine-dollar frame. The room still smelled of fresh lavender…
The digital dashboard of my Volvo glowed a soft amber in the five o’clock gloom. Windshield wipers swept a steady rhythm across the glass, clearing the heavy Seattle rain just enough for me to see the red tail lights on James Street. Water pooled in the deep ruts of the asphalt, reflecting the green and…