Fiction: Given the Circumstances
Seth led the horse into the barn and let it drink from the trough before pitching some hay under its nose. He gave it a quick rubdown, more a lick and a promise than proper care of a tired animal, but the human was also a tired animal. Plowing twenty acres of someone else’s hard land twelve miles distant in heat and humidity he had never even had nightmares about – but would from now on – was more than a middle-aged man could stand for too long. Seth had stood it for longer than that because it had to be done.
He walked toward his house. He didn’t smell supper being made, but it was too hot to eat, anyway, and he was too tired to care; he just wanted to lie down. But he forgot his exhaustion as soon as he walked through the back door into the kitchen. He stood perfectly still for a moment and took in the situation.
Fiction: The Weapon
“Your mother’s funeral,” Aunt Margaret repeated as they sat down. She spoke, as she always did, so Eric and everyone else at the table could hear her.
It was a gorgeous late spring day and the women of the First Baptist Church had set up the funeral dinner outside rather than in the church basement. Only the mildest of breezes blew and it was scented with lilac.
Eric said nothing. He had learned long ago to keep his responses to Aunt Margaret short and polite, whatever else he might want to say.
“Where on earth were you, Eric?” Aunt Margaret demanded from across the table. “What did you think could possibly be more important than being on time to your dear mother’s funeral?”
Fiction: Rearview Mirror
Lewis had worked out a simple plan: Load the old propane tank on the ton truck. Back over the gas pump by the old barn. The truck’s hot tailpipe and some fortunate sparks ignite both the gasoline storage tank and the fume-filled propane tank. Half the farm goes up in a massive explosion.
It should be a quick death, he figured, and best of all it would look like an accident; the insurance company would pay off.
Lorna would be at work at the diner, and Sarah would be in school. They wouldn’t get hurt, and they wouldn’t be around to see it happen. He’d sent them both off that morning with smiles and hugs and kisses, so there would be no reason to suspect he’d taken his own life. And they’d have a last happy memory of him.
Fiction: The Truth about Daddy
“Mom, we’re in our thirties, now. We’re old enough to hear the truth. Yes, it happened a long time ago, but we want to know the real reason Dad left us.”
Curt nodded to show that his elder sister, Leah, spoke for both of them. “We appreciate that you’ve tried to protect us, and our memories of Dad, but we can’t accept the explanation you’ve always given.”
Margaret looked at them both and sighed. She had known the day would come when they would badger her together rather than separately.
“Fine,” she said. “But I’m going to tell you this story only once. I never want to discuss this again. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” her children said in unison. Read more
Fiction: The Boy with the Red Balloon
Henry happened to look up as Joletta raised her teacup to her lips and stopped. A glassy look came into her eyes, as though she were looking at something inside herself rather than outside.
He reached across the breakfast table and gently took the cup, replacing it on its saucer. Sometimes she came out of these little trances rather sharply, and the tea was hot.
This odd behavior was common in her family. Joletta’s mother had had the sight, and so had her late brother, Randolph, of whom little was said. What was there to say, after all?
Henry continued to watch, waiting for her to come back to him and to see what peculiar direction his life was about to take this Saturday morning.
Fiction: Auld Acquaintance
“The Thurlow family New Year’s Eve party is certainly at full boil,” Will said to his little sister.
“When is any Thurlow family party not at full boil?” Laura asked.
“Want to escape for a while?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll go out first. Meet me at my Toyota in five minutes. Don’t grab your coat; it’ll be too obvious. I’ll turn on the heater.”
There had not been the slightest chance anyone in the rented Knights of Columbus hall had overheard them. The hall was filled with Thurlows and their children and those who married into the Thurlow clan and their children and those who were good friends of the family and their children. Will and Laura’s mother, Catherine, and their older sister, Ingrid, had spent hours directing the decorating of the hall.
Fiction: The Ice-Cream Parlor
The funeral had ended. The casket was buried. The dinner at the church had been eaten. The guests had expressed their sympathies and gone.
They were back at the house now, and it was just family. Helen was straightening things up, whether they needed to be straightened or not. Her Uncle Curtis was in the room with her, picking things up, studying them fondly, and setting them down again. Two people were missing.
“Where’d they go?” Helen asked her uncle.
“To Father’s study. The moment the last guest left, they both made a beeline back there to start going over his papers again. They’re going to work out to the penny what he was worth, and no matter what they learn they’ll be angry.”
NEKWE
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