A slight figure stood barefoot in the night. I stopped short. A street light hummed insistently. The fact she was out alone at this hour was troubling. Her hair smelled like smoke. Not the clean woodsy scent of a campfire. The potent, acrid stench of insulation, plastic, and desperation. Fire was an adversary I knew so well that I had forgotten how to hate it. This child had been in a house fire. Recently. Continue reading
She never felt lonely, going home each night to an empty apartment. She filled it with books, music, and expensive wine. She was independent, stubbornly so. If she couldn’t do a thing, she taught herself how. Or learned to do without. She was drunk on autonomy. She traveled. Took adventures. Experienced life on her own terms. Solo. Continue reading
Emily skimmed through her sister’s e-mail before snapping her laptop closed in disgust. They had never had that typical twin closeness. Abby had a flawless life and never missed the opportunity to rub Emily’s nose in it. A handsome, successful husband, angelic children, the catalog perfect home. It wasn’t the boasting that annoyed Emily the most. It was the implication that in comparison, she was somehow less. The constant needling was one of the reasons she had sunk everything she had into the inn. She felt obligated to prove herself. Measure up. Continue reading
Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have risked the shortcut through the wharf district at this hour. He was just anxious to get home. Continue reading
