His name was Sean Pen and her name was Robyn Wright. Only one was aware of the strange coincidence as they fell into her bed, having sex for the third time that night, because only one knew the others’ last name. “Hi, I’m Sean Pen.
The whispers began before the moving van left the driveway. “I didn’t see a sofa. Did you see a sofa, Ellen?” “No, I didn’t,” my mother replied. She and Mrs. Elger stood at the window above our kitchen sink, jockeying for position and taking mental
I used to be embarrassed by my mother. She had a way of stopping all activity on Nostrand Avenue by simply sticking her head out of our third-story apartment window and calling my name. “Renee!” I’d be so caught up in a game of Red
Everything I know about women, I learned from underneath my grandmother’s kitchen table. An only child to a single mother, I spent more time with Grandma Edna than anyone else. When I was four, maybe five, I’d hide under the round oak table whenever my
Tate walked across the diner with purpose. He passed the All Dayers at the counter, Jeff and Syd Robideaux – brothers and widowers who dined at The Blue Spoon everyday for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Jeff ate the same thing on designated days; French toast
There were times when Gladys would go to the tracks and think about Michael. This made her feel guilty. She couldn’t help herself. For twenty-five years it had been a place of fond memories. It had only been a place of mourning for one. If