Mike Westover is dead, but his name still has power. Michelle shuts her apartment door, locks it, and takes a deep breath in the quiet of the dark kitchen. She slips out of her heels and secures them in their… Continue Reading
I glanced at another mile’s worth of rows on my spreadsheet, put my head in my hands, and took a deep breath. When I exhaled, I stared at an entry that froze my heart. I had to call her next?… Continue Reading
Hollis wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to let Macy set her up on a blind date, but here she was, heading down the stairs to a tiny, hole-in-the-wall bar. She checked her phone to see if she had any messages… Continue Reading
He stares at his nude self in the bathroom mirror. He runs his fingers from his neck down his chest and over his breasts. They’re gentle, fragile, moving across his skin as if one wrong touch and he would break.… Continue Reading
“My husband says you’re the best trim painter in Griffin Construction. Steady hands, smooth strokes, no taping necessary.” “That’s right, Mrs. Griffin,” Gina said. The two women, with a generation between them, stood at the same height, 5′ 9″, had… Continue Reading
If Kevin stole the lipstick, if he slipped the tube tagged Fuschia Shock into the front pocket of his jeans, poked it between the denim slits nonchalantly enough as if it were possible to pretend his brain was unaware of… Continue Reading
Jeffrey sleeps right on the edge of the mattress, like he might fall out at any moment. I used to worry he would — I still do, I suppose. It would do his bad hip no favours. The space between… Continue Reading
After sex, instead of cuddles, Amy asked for the cat. Lulu protested that they just did this yesterday, but Amy was insistent. So Lulu went to the bathroom, crouched down on the rug, and changed. The thing about shapeshifting was… Continue Reading
November 3, 1960 Beloved Brother Alwyn, I thought you might like a photo of my new parish home at Mount St. Bernard. Leicestershire will never hold the fondness of my heart like Caldey Island. I miss the whitewashed buildings, my… Continue Reading
On a cold, snowy day in January, as an old song played on the radio, Joe, whose birthday was in September, had more trouble than usual getting ready for school. “Eat your breakfast, son,” his father said. “Today is, what,… Continue Reading