Mrs. Greed had been married for forty years, her husband the cuckold of all time. A homely man with a notable fortune, he escorted her on errands in the neighborhood. It was a point of honor with Mrs. Greed to say she would never leave him. No matter if her affection for him was surpassed…
Her kitchen is filled with the neighbors’ dishes—all well-meaning, pity-stained, uncleaned. She can’t quite think, so she shuffles about the house, marveling at the strangeness. Touching the bill pile, a bruised spot in the oak banister, his fleece jacket on a coat rack, the cannon-shaped back of a wedding gift mixer, the crumbling scone on…
I am sitting behind a desk, not my desk, maybe your desk, watching the clock. That woman who works in the next cubicle has her radio tuned to NPR. “All Things Considered” has come on. This is good, this means that we are getting toward the end of things. The work day, I mean. On…
The summer I first discovered how it feels to suffer in love, I worked for a local newspaper, selling subscriptions over the phone. It was a miserable job, and I was lousy at it. I stumbled through my script, apologizing too often, agreeing with people on the other end of the line that it was…
“Ma’am? You can’t open the windows, sorry.” Coolly she turned to the boy. Prissy Mexican kid, wearing white-boy wire-rim glasses, who’d brought up her single lightweight suitcase she’d have preferred to have brought herself, to save a tip. But at the hotel check-in downstairs the suave, brisk young woman behind the counter had finessed Kathryn,…
It was more than a year since the bombings, but the rates were still very good. The travel agent who handled his business trips had arranged it all in a matter of minutes, and Leo and his wife would step foot on the island less than seventy-two hours after the idea had first come to…
Marty called. He left a message. The only Marty I ever knew. Maybe he said his last name, but he didn’t need to. Forty years, so what? I was back there in a high school desk. Do they still have them, that funny s-shaped chair with the storage box below, a 2 x 2 or…
Now Mike Fuselier would sometimes watch Paul Calder in Moonie’s, chasing Wild Turkey with Pabst, and once Mike had seen him snoring out in the sun at Royce-Anne Park, under the wwii memorial. Often he saw Calder simply wandering the streets of West Medora with a confused, absent expression, as if she was something he’d…
To Alex"s personal horror and professional embarrassment, the Clement College alumni magazine ran an obnoxiously chipper blurb that September, in a special, blue-tinted box. She read it out loud to Malcolm on the phone: Fowl Play Assistant Professor Alex Moore has taught Samuel Taylor Coleridge"s "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" quite a few times since…
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