I didn’t know I would see the cat when I went out for the milk. I didn’t know that the milk box had frozen during the night and there were broken icicles scattered around it like splintered glass.
I don’t know about the rest of you, but I didn’t have a happy childhood. It was miserable. I had a father who was never home, a mother who read True Detective magazines, and an older sister who was a born leader.
Agnes Lynne considered that, at sixty-seven, she was young to be widowed, but she was surprised to find how many of her contemporaries had preceded her to this condition. It was as if, while Percy had been alive, the widows had tried to...
Like I’m telling you,” the sergeant said, “th’ kid could be anywhere. But he’s not here. So if you want to keep looking, go with the patrolman over there.”
My name is Jane Schreiber; five evenings a week I sit behind the reference desk in a west side branch of the public library and answer readers’ questions. These are mainly about the location of the public facilities. We keep both locked.
