What If
“Should we wait for Emile?” I ask. Grandpa doesn’t slow down, and each steady stride of his equals three of mine, even though everyone tells me I’m tall for my age. “No,” Grandpa answers. Emile is my sister. It’s pronounced “Emily,” but everyone always says it wrong. She is two years younger, and we fight a lot. She is annoying because she follows me around and always messes up my side of the bedroom. She was still putting on her windbreaker and shoes when we left. Grandpa told her we’d be on the beach walking toward the point, although I would rather just wait for her. When we pass the…
Mother and Son
“He didn’t sleep well last night,” my sister said, passing off the baby to my open arms. She didn’t need to tell me. I could tell by the faint smudges under her eyes, the baby’s unnatural disinterest in his breakfast. He didn’t whimper at being handed to his auntie, but he didn’t greet me with his usual new-toothed grin. Sister reached for coffee cups, one for her and one for my brother-in-law, who shuffled in with a similar face. “I don’t think he’s been feeling well,” she explained. Mom came in after me, and reached for the baby’s forehead. “He feels a little warm.” “And it explains why he’s been…
