51Mar 9, 2018
Riley walks in the door in the afternoon, backpack slung over one shoulder, conversation and friendship glowing warm on her cheeks. It’s as though laughter rests on the tip of her tongue. “How was school?” I say, rising from the worn table where Zoe and I have been sipping coffee, where our meandering words have […]
52Jan 26, 2018
In the morning, he puts a cup in my hands, french-pressed and steaming, the flavor deep, and I sip, letting the new day develop. My chilled fingers begin to warm to the living ahead of me, living that surely overflows the banks and spills, splashing. I crack the blinds and watch light overtake darkness, slowly, […]
53Jan 19, 2018
At first, Riley can’t see. Bright Sunday morning, and we’re just inside the building where the church meets saying hello, a bunch of mismatched, layered-up family wearing reunion smiles, and I see her bending over her clipboard, too low, too close, one eye flat closed like a patch and the other just barely a slit. […]
54Dec 22, 2017
“What’s this?” she says, leaning into the doorway, that smile wide. She wears blue eyeshadow, like tiny snatches of bright sky calling her eyes up. I explain that Riley and I are the proprietresses of the stocking stuffer room. “Mmmhmm,” Riley chirps agreeably and the ball on her Santa hat bobs, while I guesture toward […]
55Nov 3, 2017
In the kitchen, I scoop up the end of the day in my palm–the covered, sharp tip of an insulin needle we used for Adam; an alcohol swab, still evaporating that clean, astringent smell; paper-torn wrappers. With the other hand, I lift an abandoned cup of water–probably the one Riley set down when she finished […]
56Sep 22, 2017
The journal was a gift from my parents; the cover black, like pitch, like a blind dark day. Butterflies explode from the corner, brilliant blue, buttery gold, every size, hundreds of them by surprise, overwhelming all that flat emptiness. I run my fingers over the raised edges of their wings, feeling the fine lines, the […]
57Sep 8, 2017
Clutching the mug–round, steaming, creamy-warm, in the snug space between twinkle lights and the gentle glow of dawn, I push back my chair, leaving the porch with its weathered slats and plump, happy cushions. The house feels still, dark, lightly chilled from the brisk morning. Just past a silhoutted wave to father and daughter on […]
58Aug 18, 2017
To look at her, you’d not think her mighty, carrying that slice of notebook paper folded over her fingers, brassy hair tied in two smooth knots and pinned, finally, against her head and away from her face. She insists upon nothing in her eyes when she’s about her business, checking off important things in a […]
59Aug 4, 2017
Home and kids settled, I run upstairs and slip on my walking shoes, tugging at the laces. Sometimes the only thing I know is that I need God. I slip my keys and my phone in my pocket and promise to be back soon, and I move, carrying water, heavy in one hand. I’m thirsty, […]
60Jul 7, 2017
I step down the ladder and balance my paintbrush on the edge of the can, reaching down to trace the paint-tattoo on my knee with one finger. This now dry glob—when did that happen?–looks like a Maui Mist cloud, all wispy at the edges. I clench and unclench my hands, sore, noticing the red welts rising like blistering […]