They shouldn’t have expunged her Contract. Clara brushed the final fondant rose onto her Blushing Bride cake and placed it into the light box. The image flashed on a panel and she slid it into the contest bin at FancyFingers. Her garnet earrings were losing ranking and she needed that cake to restore her credibility. She moved her
Gareth spun the new notebook and focused on his account balance while the investor sheathed his old machine in sweaty leather. His pulse registered the number in a blood-deafened moment of uncontrolled arousal. Tomorrow’s FDA memo fluttered to the keyboard, the investor’s outstretched hand probing beyond fantasy to deliver the stark,
Not Pregnant. She shook the digital stick and the extraneous word held steady. Blink. Still there. Christopher! Shocking green tape hid shattered glass, evidence of Monday’s departure. He ignored her messages, thinning now after five days of reality. He had laughed, at first, stretching his naked toes through the wooly bathroom rug.
They met at the gazebo behind the old elementary school. Glynnis spread tiptoes and watched him clomp up the hill, his fists stretching knit jacket pockets. A confident moon hid any insecurity, his posture straight, not stiff. A joyful shiver tickled her soul, delight in knowing she was wanted. She couldn’t see his face, but it didn’t
There is a cracked painting on the wall. It is not cracked. It is not a painting. There is an abstract print on the wall. The glass is cracked by the shadow of a line. The glass is not cracked. If you are not afraid of the crushing frame, you can stand under the print. Did the artist see the crack? Whose life lies under glass, inside cracks
Pansy was 18 months old the day Mama slithered the blue ribbon from her drifting hair and tied Pansy’s wrist to the suitcase on the back porch. Mama almost blew away with the curls, until Papa took his hands from his hips and raised his palms in submission. The ribbon released its bite on the chubby little wrist and tamed the curls back in
Slate tugged the greasy black strands across his shining scalp, thighs cramping at the squat required to see his reflection in the minivan window. He had to keep moving so his flip-flops wouldn’t melt to the pavement, pink plastic straps hidden under wide-bottom polyester plaid. He gathered the shopping carts and returned them to the stall,
Eris did not exist. Before her eyes, her fingers flexed, tools and weapons of another lifetime. The hour had come to disappear; yet she sat in darkness rooted to her swivel chair. Through the polished glass touch-top, she watched the pulsing green status light and resisted the temptation to boot the machine and follow the plan. For four
I scraped the last of Keddy’s rot from my driveway and dumped the sour skins. Late autumn beams gave warmth for sandals and sun hats. In three years I had never bitten a fallen apple. That would be stealing. I stripped wet gloves to prepare for my task. Seventeen would not make it serial. Each act was unique and, though compelled, I knew
She knew he was still alive. She passed his truck in the bar parking lot on her way home from the cemetery. Earlier, it was parked behind the practice in his usual spot. Before he bought the pickup, it was a pristine luxury sedan with vanity plates. She figured the truck was his midlife crisis. She'd never seen anything in the bed and after
