Fiction

When our daughter was four, she pushed half a turquoise crayon so far up her nose that Paul had to take her to the pediatrician, who removed it with tweezers. For a while the story was good for cocktail parties … Continue reading →

This, Margaret thought, was the perfect night for a walk in the forest. How fortunate that she had already agreed to be there. Goody Price had died earlier that night, strangled by the rope as she protested her innocence and … Continue reading →

When writing, I find it impossible to concern myself with the arcane rules of spelling and punctuation. The plight of the dangling participle concerns me not at all, especially when operating under the threat of death. But syntax—that’s quite another … Continue reading →

If Cecilia Davenport lived in some other city, she and her husband would have bought a brownstone near a park, and then some other nanny who wasn’t Molly could walk Annabeth and Odette to it. But then again, Molly thinks … Continue reading →

It Being Forbidden A child came into the world missing one part, though in other respects she was perfect, and the curve of the nub where her part should have been, serene as the arc of an egg or a … Continue reading →