struck and forgot about
Kristina. Mom sent a signed
book along. Hopefully, the roads
will be clear and they’ll make it
back in time for the big meal.
Mom’s already in the kitchen,
baking pies and kneading
the dough for her homemade
cinnamon rolls. A Christmas
morning staple around here.
That and butcher-shop bacon.
Been the same breakfast every
Christmas morning that I can
remember. And before that, too,
I’m told. The boys and Leigh
are still fast asleep. I’m sure
Kristina is too. I’ll pick her
up a little later. After I make
another stop in Reno.
HER CAR IS HERE
The house is dark. Silent
in the growing light. I let
myself in with the spare key
I had made and never told
her about. Shh. In stocking
feet along the hallway, listening.
Hoping she is alone. I hear
only her breathing as I steal
down the hall, into the familiarity
of a room filled with Nikki’s