Short Story

Treen, West Cornwall — November
The barn sat at the end of a lane that had no business being called a road. Marta’s hire car scraped gorse on both sides, the branches clawing at the paintwork like something trying to pull her back. She had forgotten how narrow everything was here. How the land refused to accommodate machinery. How the sky seemed to press down on the granite as if testing it.

When it left, it left as it had come, through the same breach in the same levee, though weary now and sluggish from its rampage. It left like the marauding creature they now knew it had been all along, left silent slow and sure to lie again in slumber, far between the fields. It had devoured everything it could and splintered what it could not swallow…

After working in civil aviation engineering for so long, Sam Kenney wondered how he would adapt to having his feet on the ground and no particular place to go. Maybe that’s when it started, the drifting apart, the discovery that he and Roxie actually had very little to talk about because there was suddenly so much space to be filled due to his continual presence. Except when it came to their son, grown now and living far afield.

Mom’s been on her phone throughout dinner, not even pretending anymore.
Maya pushes pasta around her plate. When Aurora finally sets the phone down, Maya tries to grab a moment. .
“How’s the data center project?” .
“Mm?” Aurora rubs her eyes. “Fine. Complicated. A lot of moving parts.” .
“When’s the decision?” .
“Soon.” Aurora lifts her fork, then sets it down again. “Don’t wait up tonight. I need to finish the presentation.”

Mairead stopped in the vestibule and slid her hand above the mailboxes to locate the Binaca, once again surprised that no one had discovered her hiding place. She turned to face the street in case Toula from 2G or the super, as her grandmother called him, appeared out of nowhere. She sprayed a quick blast into her mouth, her saliva glands clenching at the sweet mint, then headed up the stairs. She pocketed the Binaca; might as well keep it for later in case Henry showed up at the bonfire.

Hi, Kate. I’m writing this in a campground as the sun sets on a mountain, Tucumcari Mountain. It’s purple! Kevin said it got its name from a Comanche word that means to wait for something to come to you. I’m waiting for Charlie and Kevin to come back from town with pizza!
Kevin gave me this iPad the night before we left Nashville. He bought it with the money he made by . . . well, that’s the reason I’m writing this.