On the day my mother died I woke to rain, a rhythmic tick-tick-ticking against the windows, the first real downpour we’d had in months. I roused Oliver, crouching beside his tiny bed and tugging at the blankets, the blunt comma… Continue Reading
I’ll always remember the way his car smelled, like stale Pall Malls and Vicks VapoRub. It was memories of court-ordered, every-other-weekend visits, chicken fingers and ice cream for dinner from the Dairy Queen, and peanut butter cups baked into the… Continue Reading
It was late August, and I was still too young to attend school. I remember walking with my mother on the hillside path near our home at Dark Byte, along the rugged Labrador coastline. We were on our way for… Continue Reading
I work a mixture of peat and shredded leaves into the hole, then arrange the bulbs pointy end up before blanketing them with a few inches of dirt. Planting crocuses is supposed to keep me from offing myself in the… Continue Reading
If I ignore the door hanging half off its hinges and the swallow’s nest surveying the dust from beneath the exposed center beam, Nana’s cottage is little changed from fifteen years ago, when Dad left me here to “find my… Continue Reading
I found it on the counter by the microwave, under a stack of yellowing envelopes. It was sticking to the bottom of the pile and I would have missed it altogether when I picked them up had it not leapt… Continue Reading
In my memory, my dad and I stand in the detached garage of that old farmhouse, the faded green one at the end of the long lane that runs past Woods Camp and the football field. The door is open,… Continue Reading
“You didn’t have to come with me, Sam. I’m okay.” Sam handed me the challah I’d made the day before, wrapped in a cloth. He’d always scared me a little bit, tall and athletic and proud. He looked like the… Continue Reading
Every time we get together we cook too much, and then we eat too much. Even though our parents did their best to try and teach us proper table manners, we hunch our backs, put our elbows on the table… Continue Reading
Bridget grew up hearing legends of the stone angel that guarded the graveyard, but she’d never needed her help until now. Draped in a flowing robe with wings outstretched in a righteous fury, her gaze dared passersby to disturb her… Continue Reading