Fiction: A Late Walk

Two roads diverged in the woods, and Warren could not tell which one his errant dog had taken. There had been a frost the previous night; it had hardened the ground against footprints, and the leaves seemed equally trodden upon.

Warren was unconcerned. He often came to these lovely woods with his little dog. They belonged to a friend who lived in town and didn’t mind people stopping by. In the summer, the woods had been filled with monarch butterflies, flitting from one tuft of flowers to the next. With the approach of winter, of course, they could not stay.

He stood and listened to the sound of the trees as the wind flowed gently through their bare branches. His right hand, of old, unvanquished habit, clenched around an invisible mate, and then it tightened into a fist.

Warren had often brought Amy here. They stood in this spot and held hands, admiring the birches and the phoebes and each other.

But Amy had gone back west to care for her ill mother. And across the distance, as so often happens, she had met someone else and never returned to Warren or the woods.

Warren had ambled the city’s streets late into the night after that, beyond the furthest city light, numbly exploring the vast reaches of the growing desert place inside himself. At times his heart burned; other times it was as though ice had taken over. But he eventually returned to the natural world; he had already given up love and the future he had wanted, and even though the birds’ songs would never be the same, he refused to give up his precious walks in the woods.

Never mind that, he told himself with a sigh.

Night began falling fast. Warren whistled once, and then again, as loudly as he could. A bark answered him, and he looked down the left trail. Robert raced into view; he danced upright for a moment before coming to a stop at his master’s feet.

“It looks like it might snow,” Warren told the dog. “I’ll have to take you in tonight.”

Warren led Robert back toward the edge of the woods where the car was parked. They came to the short rock wall that Warren’s friend tried in vain to keep in repair. A squarish rock lay on the ground, and Warren was almost certain it had been on top of the wall when he and Robert first passed by only an hour before.

Warren opened the car door; Robert jumped in and went directly to the passenger seat. Warren slid in behind the wheel and started the car.

Robert looked out the window and yawned. Warren scratched the dog’s ears.

“Only a few miles to go, and then you can sleep.”

Fiction: The Hope Chest

“You have hope chests at this sale, is that correct?” Eloise asked.

“Oh, yes,” the auctioneer’s assistant said. “Right over there. We’ll probably get to them in about twenty minutes.”

“Thank you.” Eloise walked in the direction the man had pointed. She gave each chest only a quick once-over; the one she hoped to find was distinctive.

Eloise tried to tamp down the constant flare of anger she felt toward her late sister’s daughter and that rogue she was married to. After Marnie’s death, Junie – doubtless prodded by Fred – sold her mother’s hope chest at a yard sale. Fred had conned the buyer into thinking the chest was a valuable antique that the family ever so hated to let go, but you knew how it was.

Antique it may have been, but its value was primarily sentimental.

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Fiction: Floral Arrangement

It was windy that day in St. James’ Cemetery, and the flowers that were laid with love at the eastern end of the cemetery had been repositioned to decorate other graves. I left my hat in the car so I wouldn’t have to chase after it.

Her stone was taller than it was long, and I used my pocket knife to dig in the painfully well-manicured grass on the windward side. I set the yellow rose, still in its water tube, in the little hole and scraped earth around it with the flat of my blade.

“Think nothing of it,” I said. “It’s just one flower.”

Janet didn’t respond. The dead are like that.

But then, Janet hadn’t spoken to me for almost fifty years.

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Fiction: This Diamond Ring

Sandra tugged at her ring and eventually got it off of her finger. She threw it at Delbert, who lay wheezing softly on the living room floor. It missed his face but landed in plain sight.

“That little thing isn’t even worth trying to resell,” she growled.

He looked at the ring and remembered how gleeful he had been eighteen years before when he went to Kavalitz’ Jewelry and picked out the nicest wedding ring his budget could withstand. It would have to suffice; the matching engagement ring was far too expensive. Mr. Kavalitz assured Delbert he didn’t mind breaking up the set.

Delbert had taken Sandra out to dinner that night. After they both had declined the waitress’ offer of dessert, Delbert had reached into his suit pocket. “Perhaps I could interest you in this, though.” He opened the box and handed it to Sandra.

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Fiction: The Courier

“Mama Astrid,” Noemi said quietly. “Am I old enough now to learn more about my Mama Sabine?”

Astrid didn’t look up. Noemi had turned 15 the week before and this was expected.

“Go sit on the couch,” Astrid said. “Let me get us some tea.”

Astrid set the simple tea service on the table. She poured a cup for Noemi and one for herself before sitting down on the sofa with the younger woman.

“You cannot, of course, remember your mother,” Astrid said. “My heart breaks every time I think of that, and I want to scream. The first time I fully realized it, I kept my poor husband awake all night with my crying. But it has changed nothing.” She sipped the hot tea as a tear fell down her right cheek. “Filthy boche.”

Astrid cleared her throat. “We were in the same unit in the Resistance. We were the only women, and women were not looked upon warriors or politicians or thinkers or anything other than wives and mothers. But the men in the unit learned that sometimes a woman attracts less attention doing certain things than a man would, so we were tolerated. I was about 22 and Sabine was almost 30.

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Fiction: The Fur Line

Anna gave her new teddy bear one more hug and then set him on her bed facing the semicircle of her other teddy bears.

“All of you start becoming friends now,” she instructed. “I’ll be back after I eat dinner.” And she skipped out of her room.

Five light-furred teddy bears looked at the newcomer in their midst. He was shaped much like they were and had a similar smile on his face. But there the resemblance ended.

His fur was dark brown.

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Fiction: Accept Our Condolences

Marla started working her way through the pile of mail that the girls had been stacking up on the end table. It was mostly sympathy cards, of course. The electric bill, punctual as always. A reminder from her dentist that it was time for her checkup – as if she cared about her teeth after losing the man she’d loved. And an envelope bearing the name of a local law firm. She opened it.

“Dear Mrs. Furst:

“Please accept our condolences on the sudden death of your husband, Jacob. He was quite pleasant to know and we were pleased to have done some work for him shortly before his death.

“Enclosed is a bill for services we rendered before his untimely demise, in the matter of the divorce proceedings he was about to initiate. Needless to say, these arrangements had not been completed, nor had he finalized his new will to include his son, Samuel, by Ms. Torie Champel, whom he was planning to marry at a later date. She has retained our services and you may expect to hear from us again regarding that matter and Samuel’s share in the estate.

“All payments are due 30 days after the date on the invoice.

“Again, we are sorry for your loss.

“Sincerely…”