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*42* Unknown
*Junior*
I had no idea where I was going when I ran off after the trainman yelled at me. And frankly, I’m not all that certain I knew where I was anymore. I don’t remember even seeing Father Brennan’s house. Or the church. And I didn’t run through the cemetery or see the train tracks or the shops along Main Street. My head wasn’t particularly clear.
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*Juliet*With a contented sigh, I collapse against Sam’s chest, sweating despite the cold, heaving oxygen into my lungs.“I love you.” Sam’s panting whisper sounds as sapped as I feel, but pleasantly so, and his arms slide from where he held my thighs, over my back to cradle me against him. “I love you.”“I love you, Sam.”Time drifts in an exhausted haze, warm welcoming sleep wrapping its cloak of peace around us both, bidding us rest. Still kneeling on top of him, I relax heavily, his arms relaxing heavily over me in return. Every part of me still tingles faintly, absolutely satiated with the love we’ve made.Downstairs, the mantle clock chimes faintly, once—the half hour—though I have no idea which half hour that is and care even less.
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*Rob*It's agonizing for me, but Margie decides to wait until after Dan and Ella return from their honeymoon before dropping by the farmhouse one blustery January day.As seems to always be her way, she arrives with a labeled storage box of the township's newspaper history that Dan carries for her while I help the aged woman up the veranda stairs to the door."Oh, well now," she says pleasantly, taking a seat on the sofa near Grace. "No wonder you're keeping to yourself and looking so content here. Rob's got you a nice fire built and the house toasty warm. Good for him."Grace flashes that gorgeous smile of hers, all the more beautiful because she carrying my children, tugging her lap blanket up over her rounded belly, and I frown. "Do you need another blanket, Grace? Are you warm enough?"Rolling her big ocean blue eyes, she
The Work of Grace *1* Key
*Grace*It’s warm inside, between the great room’s roaring fireplace and all the people. Too warm. I can’t remember a time the farmhouse has ever been so warm. The closest was just before I turned fourteen. At Christmas. After my father married my stepmother and our blended family spent the holiday here, with my grandmother, Juliet, before we moved into our own home.Now it’s warm from the horde of visitors here for Juliet’s repast. Familiar strangers from this small town, mumbling condolences and promises to visit I know they’ll never keep. My feelings now are the same as they were that Christmas sixteen years ago—sadness, numbness.Checking to see if anyone is watching, I slip quietly out the mudroom door onto the wraparound veranda and hurry to the railing at the back corner of the de
The Work of Grace *2* Posting
*Rob* I ease my way through the crowded hall towards my next class with my best friend, Dan, in tow. I smile politely and nod to the few people who bother to look up from their phones as they rush by. Mostly these are girls, college co-eds attending the same community college and drawn to my boyish good looks, dimpled smile and perpetually tousled wild spikes of black hair. I know because I hear about it all the time from Dan. “How do you do that, Rob?” Here we go again. “Do what?” I turn my head slightly to focus an ear Dan’s direction, waiting for his response. “The girls, man. Every one of them that’s made eye contact with you has done a double take after they passed you. I mean you’re handsome enough—but certainly no model.” There it is, as expected. “Even at the bar, you pull some
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The Work of Grace *4* Shower
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The Work of Grace *5* Skirmish
*Rob* Extracting myself from beneath the bathroom sink, I stand, rubbing the spot where the cabinets pressed into my back as I worked changing out the faucets and supply lines. I test the connections for each handle and the hot and cold feeds for leaks as the water runs and, pleased with my work, gather my trash and tools, heading downstairs. Four down, three to go, I think, dreading the update in the tiny downstairs’ powder room more than any of the others. At the landing, my eyes are drawn through the entry windows where I can see Grace has returned from her errands. I curse, hurrying to empty my arms, as I watch her close the driver-side crew cab door on her pick-up, then collect the handles of all of her shopping bags and start towards the house, slumped under the weight of the too heavy burdens. I leap off the veranda, racing across the snowy front yard toward her. “
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