The Blue Shutters My mother called on a Wednesday evening while I was walking out of Boston Housing Court with my bag on one shoulder and the particular headache that […]
The old man had been sitting at the bus stop for nearly twenty minutes, silently staring at the rain-soaked road. The gray sky hung low over the street, pressing down […]
The envelope was sitting on the coffee table before I had taken off my coat. Cream-colored, tabbed, my name printed across the front in the clean serif font my mother […]
The first thing that pulled me back was a steady, rhythmic beeping. It cut through the darkness like something calling me up from far below. My body felt heavy, as […]
I was thirty-one, holding a box cutter in one hand and a carton of cold chow mein in the other, when my mother called and said, “Astrid, please tell me […]
The Yellow Chair At six in the morning, my mother in law burst through the front door and shouted, “Give us the seven million from your mother’s apartment sale,” and […]
The Nightlight My granddaughter told me while I was tucking her in. She said it the way children say things that frighten them, quietly, with the covers pulled up to […]
The reunion had been loud since ten in the morning, and by early afternoon it had reached the specific pitch of a gathering where everyone is performing a version of […]
The Gold Pen My son broke my finger on a Tuesday. Not by accident, not in the confused tangle of an argument where bodies move faster than intentions. He took […]
The study still carried traces of my grandfather’s cedar tobacco, even though he had given it up nearly a decade ago on the advice of a cardiologist he liked and […]