Fireworks exploded over Elysium Fields Senior Living and Nate almost dropped the bag of empanadas as he blundered out of his car. He squelched his apprehension. He had to reach Abuela before she lost herself in memory.
On recent visits, Abuela had been lucid, and he’d told Alexis about their picnic traditions. Abuela would demolish them in Rummy.
I flew up the stairs two at a time, furious. Six more weeks in a cast? That’s my entire baseball season ruined. Flopping into my desk chair, I swept my casted arm across the top of the desk, sending everything either flying or thumping to the floor. Look magazine peeked out from under homework and a tissue box.
Read it now
“Eugenia, I can’t put a princess ballgown on a gorgon,” I squeak through the doorway of the sales office. “It won’t match her hair!”
Our immaculate, skirt-suited manager looks up from her spreadsheets. “Mary, you know our policy.”
“Make every bride feel like a daydream.” I hike up my armload of tulle-engorged plastic garment bags.
Silvee tugged at her brother’s sleeve. “That’s not the one, Lukah.”
A scowl flitted across the store manager’s face before he plastered on a smarmy smile and leered over them.
“If you don’t like the Next Gen 4x Madre, then how about the Mamen 4000? It’s still got the 360-surveillance visual range, cleaning and multitasking functions, and excellent culinary features.
Women in colorful, gay dresses. Men in Panama hats and suits. The sweet aroma of cigars. The heady odor of dirt and fresh white paint. The sights and sounds and scents of the Kentucky Derby assault my nostrils. Make my head spin. I tremble.
Jason pats my side, stroking his fingers through my mane.
Let me tell you a love story. No, it’s not a fallin’ story—fallin’ in love’s the messy bit. This one’s about old love, the kind that’s lived a handful of years, that’s aged into something stronger and softer. That’s where the best stories are found.
Slim was a man of few words…
I knew two things about Boston. Running was its heartbeat and ducks were always welcome. Momma had told me of that magical place when I was a duckling. As a grown hen, I shared the tale with my two daughters, Roxi and Sara, and our decision to move was unanimous.
Ten days after departing Rochester, we were gliding over Boston Public Garden.
You wouldn’t forget the date of your dad’s death any more than you’d forget your own.
January 3, 1962. The worst day of my life. And only two months later, we’re going to Disneyland.
“Swell way to mourn,” I muttered.
Mom flinched like I’d punched her in the gut, but it was my kid sister Susie…
There are echoes in the valley, and they speak my name.
Emereth. Emereth.
Desperate and muffled like a man with his face in a pillow, using his last breath—for me. It is carried on a low, whistling wind that aches through tall cliffs on either side of this place. It rustles through wildflowers, collecting pollen and doubts.
After my daughter and her husband’s car accident, it was just Carter and me. Then, three years later to the day that I had buried his parents, I laid six-year-old Carter beside them.
Leukemia.
Most of the people at the funeral were my grandson’s friends. A few had tears running down their cheeks as they hugged their parents…
“You gave me a shovel for Valentine’s Day?” My wife ran a finger along its heart-shaped grip as she rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Jason?”
“I had it custom-made, Corazon, just for you.” I grinned. Her name means “heart” in Spanish.
Setting the tool gently back into its box, she said, “Snow isn’t even in
“Hemorrhoids.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I buried my face in the menu. It wouldn’t be the first time my darling Joe had embarrassed me in an elegant restaurant like Tony’s. I’d just hoped our forty-ninth anniversary might be an exception.
“Hemorrhoids!” Joe announced. A few patrons side-eyed each other.
I lifted my face slightly and…
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