She sat with the book on her lap, turning the pages slowly and
listening to the sounds that drift into a quiet house on a lively street.
Finally, she closed the book and rose from the sofa. It was time. Continue reading
I slide into an Eames chair and dig through my bag, then pour the contents onto the connecting seat. It’s not there. I slip my hand into the front pocket, where my keys had turned up last Christmas after an hour-long extended-family search party had failed to locate them when I’d “lost” them at my brother’s house.
Not there. Continue reading