I open my daughter’s refrigerator and frown. Hot dogs. Chicken nuggets. Left-over spaghetti. Root beer.
When I’d received my daughter’s desperate plea: “Can you come watch the kids? We have to go to a town meeting and the babysitter just bailed,” it was almost past my bedtime (kidding, kinda) – 7:00 p.m. My guy and I had just finished dinner and on a whim, I brought the leftovers. Continue reading
I’m home making dinner and my cell phone rings.
I check the number and groan. Phone scammers now send calls using the same area code and first three digits of a nearby town. In my case, each call says “Groton.”
No one in Groton is on my address list.
I ignore the call and sauté the onions before the phone rings again. And three minutes later, again.
Just about ready to throw the phone in the drawer and lock it up, I notice that the “scammer” has left a voice mail message. Weird. Scammers never leave a “calling card,” so to speak. Continue reading
Written in response to D.W. Peach’s March Speculative Fiction Prompt
The rain falls so hard the trees appear to be weeping. I stand on the steep sidewalk waiting for the school bus, hair frizzing into tight curls but mouth curled up in a sweet grandmotherly smile.
My grandson turns seven today, and I’m determined to help him celebrate. Continue reading
Because of me, my granddaughter almost loses a couple of fingers.
We’re driving down a typical New England country road, bracketed with August-green swaying trees. Hawks swing on the tops of those trees, squawking loudly.
To our right is an almost-hidden river where kayakers slowly swing their oars. To our left is dense wood filled with squirrels and woodchucks and chirping sparrows.
“Madre, watch out!” Sophie yells. I ram my foot on the brake. Continue reading
Ten years ago, I never would have imagined myself in this situation.
“I won!” he says to me now. “Come on, can’t you do better?”
I grit my teeth. I’ve never been good at this kind of thing. Even as a young girl I never attempted it. Continue reading
roughwighting 