Fiction

  There was no warning when the cattle turned. Just an October day like any other. It was weaning season, and they were peeling the yearlings from their mothers, so maybe that’s what did it. But why that year, that … Read More

  I’d just as soon cut his throat as watch him take one more step toward the mall. All things being equal. All things are not equal, so I’ll wait here until he comes back out and hope he’s one … Read More

  Brandon and I were skulking around in front of the house, doing our best to impersonate respectability, when Mrs. Alvarado finally deigned to appear. I was watching the sky; high overhead, the wind gently pushed wispy clouds that looked … Read More

  Simon Bettendorf, a motor-mouth grill cook and chronic history major, had no intention of taking up with a Lead Belly’s server or helping her mother to die, but he did both. It started on a Monday night, one of … Read More

  Hector and I ride out from the slat-ribbed herd to find the lost cow. Morning lies red against the distant range. As the minutes pass the sky deepens, blue and empty as ever. “I don’t see this damn thing … Read More

  Ok. I killed Dashwani. There is no argument or mitigation. I took the toss from O’Conn, a perfect little underhand flip, put my foot on second, cut a neat little pivot and fired a shot toward first. But Dashwani, … Read More

  1841 It is evening by the time you arrive at Second Eden: the sun has just set, and there is a nip in the air that presages the autumn to come. The journey from Boston was a long one: … Read More

  It was a truck like the army uses, but instead of the metal frame and tarp, the back was enclosed in a wooden box. Painted on the plywood was the word “taxi.” One of the taxi men, the one … Read More

My great-grandfather’s grandfather bought the island and built the house. Before that, the island was nobody’s. There was evidence of Indians, great piles of clamshells near the southern tip, but by then the Wabanaki had fled to Canada to be … Read More

My great-grandfather’s grandfather bought the island and built the house. Before that, the island was nobody’s. There was evidence of Indians, great piles of clamshells near the southern tip, but by then the Wabanaki had fled to Canada to be … Read More

  Orlando’s mother, Grace, once said she’d make a terrible liar. I know why she said this. Her face showed her every emotion. I have never had that problem myself. I am what’s known as Black Irish, descended from Spanish … Read More