From her earliest memories, Laura Bishop had been entranced by summer flowers. Every year, behind the small clapboard farmhouse where she lived with her mother and father, the hillside that sloped gently up to a stand of thick woods became a dazzling carpet—coneflower and corn poppy, blue flax, indian blanket, goldenrood and New England aster. These were the names taught to her by her mother.
“Now, your aunt Elizabeth, a very smart woman, indeed,” her mother had said, “knows every one of those flowers by their Latin names. She learned them at the college in Carbondale. I just know them by what we call them here. Good enough for me. In that I am in agreement with your father. Why do we need a foreign name when we have a perfectly fine one in good, old American?” …
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Casey was pricing vinyl when she walked in. The door was open. It was early, and he normally greeted customers when he was alone, but he figured it was a regular, poking through the newest used stuff. That or Sean forgot something. Casey continued with the stack until he heard the flutter of a coat and the scrape of approaching feet. When a woman cleared her throat, he looked up.
“Not going to ask if you can help me?”
“Can I help you?”
“I guess you trust people here. Not sure I would.”
He yawned. “What brings you to Seattle?”
“Robert’s nephew, Scott. Remember him? He’s getting married.”
“Why here—doesn’t he live in L.A.?”
“His wife and her family. They’re all from Tacoma.”
“And where’s Robert?”…
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I sat on the 18 -inch cement ledge that jutted out from the museum wall at the South entrance and looked at the fountain in front of me. It boasts 60 spouts, with a 6 -foot geyser of foaming water coming from each one. It is a big, oval- shaped fountain with a lip wide enough that sometimes you see young boys rollerblading around it, though they usually wipe out. Sometimes a particularly streamlined cyclist will attempt the circuit and jump off just as the curve tightens at either end.
Noontime. And even though fall was approaching, the sun was strong enough that I could sit out with only a sweater over my sleeveless dress, leftover from the summer. It wasn’t my lunch hour for I take that at 2:00 o’clock, a necessary defense against the long afternoons.…
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My most cherished,
Fate keeps pulling us together. Entwined like the vines on your family lake house in Granby. Let’s take a trip there someday! Perhaps that can be where we share our vows? It would make for a beautiful wedding spot. Don’t worry, I’m not proposing quite yet, just considering our future, which is paramount because women like you enjoy planning ahead and preparing.
I adored the blue flower sundress you wore on our date the other night. The movie was hilarious! I rarely like movies but watching you laugh just brightens my day. I know you felt self conscious about your appearance but you shouldn’t; the dress fit your frame perfectly and your hair looks pretty curled.
Take these flowers, one for everyday we’ve been together.…
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The door swung shut so fast it almost hit Joe in the ankle, almost nipping at his heel like a sheepdog would its misbehaving charge. Joe had slammed the door shut behind him for effect and it almost came back to bite him. In spite of his rage, he chuckled at that fact as he made his way down the weathered stairs of the rented beach house. He followed the trail that led through the dunes, covered in sea oats, to the Gulf of Mexico.
When one door closes, another one always opens. Joe had heard that theory although it was merely wishful thinking to him. The idea certainly couldn’t be counted on like Newtonian laws of gravity and motion. But in this case, the same shut door opened up again briefly, just long enough for Joe’s little sister to slip through and pull it shut behind her, closing it much more gently than Joe had done.…
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After Mom got too tired to get out of bed, that man she insisted on calling my dad couldn’t be bothered to pick up the slack.
He took money out of her purse and walked with me to the store. I made friends with a little girl while he was inside. Her face tasted like peanut butter.
When he came back out, that man had a big box and he stood there by the trash can pulling everything out except what he needed. He stuck some of those cords in his pockets and a stack of paper, too. The whole time he was mad at me for making too much noise and helping too much.
Finally, he pulled the important thing out. He had to crack it out of a white shell that sounded terrible when the pieces of it scraped together.…
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The Death
In the land of the dead, reapers usher the spirits of the dead across a river. One such reaper, Grimm, has done this for over six hundred years.
Unquenched
Grimm studied the familiar map showing where to collect his next spirit. As he approached, the spirit eyed him with disdain, and refused to pay for the ride. Grimm, momentarily taken aback, informed him that no money was needed to cross, after which the spirit happily boarded. Grimm asked the spirit his name and where he came from, but the spirit scoffed, insisting on payment for his answers. Grimm rolled his eyes beneath his hood, but tossed the spirit a gold coin, the metallic clink echoing in the stillness. The routine of ferrying souls through the underworld had left Grimm thoroughly unentertained, and the spirits’ tales were one of the few diversions left to him.…
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