The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night a candle burned in the window. Sadie had lit it, along with a dozen others, in the hopes it would make the place cozier. It wasn’t working. She suspected the log cabin had always been rough around the edges, but, after years of neglect, it was almost uninhabitable. If it hadn’t had a fairly solid roof, she probably wouldn’t have decided to stay here. But the place was wind and waterproof, so she’d done what she could to make it more pleasant. She’d spent all day dusting, mopping floors and washing down the walls just to make it clean enough to sleep in. It would take a lot more work to make the place comfortable, but at least she’d made a start.
People don’t understand why my father and I don’t speak. It’s not easy to explain. I’m not a child of divorce, who grew up without him in the home. He never beat or bullied me. There was no cataclysmic event that tore us apart. My childhood is blessedly free of trauma. We’ve never fallen out. But, from the earliest days of my childhood, this has been the way of things. We don’t communicate directly. Essential information is relayed via my mom or my brother. Exchanging even the most basic of pleasantries just doesn’t happen. We avoid being alone with each other, preferring the comforting buffer of another person.
The humble ham sandwich has never tasted as good as it did in the summer of ’86. Who knows what sorcery my Aunt Elaine employed, but somehow, in her hands, two ordinary slices of bread, a smear of margarine and the cheapest deli ham became something magical.
The Weather House
The wind almost lifted him off his feet. The swirling gust that rose before him seemed so bent on slowing his progress, he might almost believe it had been called up deliberately to thwart him. Was its sole purpose to prevent him from reaching his destination? Professor John Fuller quickly shook that absurd idea from his mind. He was too logical to entertain such fanciful notions. It was inconceivable that a person could hold sway over the elements. But then, so many things lived beyond the limits of his imagination. Fuller was a small man, in every way, as narrow of mind as he was slight in stature.