Two Plane Tickets to Savannah and the Sixty Day Marriage Agreement

rhythmic code against the polished brown strap.

I paced the rug near the bay window, holding an empty stoneware mug by its handle. The hum of the old refrigerator in the kitchen sounded louder than usual in the silence between us.

“He does not see me,” I said, looking out at the damp autumn leaves on the deck. “I could dye my hair continue reading …