Allegiance and Betrayal
Publication Year: 2013
Published by: Syracuse University Press
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Title Page, Copyright
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I would like to thank the editors of the journals in which some of these stories or earlier versions of them originally appeared:Hudson Review: “Family,” “My ’49 Ford,” “Visitation,” and “My ’49 Ford” was reprinted in Writes of Passage, edited by Paula “Visitation” was reprinted as “Piecework” in This Is Where We ...
My ’49 Ford
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...would be the best of my life, I didn’t feel lucky at all, only glad to be driving. After three hours on the road, rain had sheeted down and left the pavement silver and black. Beads of water stood up nicely on new wax of the louvered hood, but my rocker panels and fl ared fender skirts would be fi lthy by the time we arrived. My father, ...
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...the soccer fi eld toward the dorm. J. C. puffed on a cigar and blew two perfect hoops of smoke, the wheels of some crazy bicycle that fl ung spray of the Atlantic. One look toward the dorm director’s After he arrived at St. Anthony’s—during a blizzard in the mid-dle of our second year—guys began calling him J. C. because of ...
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Uncle Jarek, leaning his brass-jointed cue stick against the bar, laughed and hit me with one of his patented expressions: “Don’t lose you!” He tightened the turquoise bola at his throat, then reached for the VO and milk he claimed was easier on his ulcer. I said, “Try He looked at the inside of his wrist, the black watch face with ...
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W.schere D.scerek lived now, the only real snow was remembered, so it wasn’t until the patterns of farmland below the jet pod began to turn white that the purpose of his trip came back. At LaGuardia he had switched planes and was almost glad for the heavy weather turns. The cockpit curtain was open; he could see a red fl ashing ...
Ghost of Thanksgiving
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The wind rubbed a moaning sound from a loose pane in the kitchen window. Lester tapped the pane to stop it, then looked at the snowy a number of things into his decisions these days, and temperature was one. A decision to leave the house was a yes-no proposition. A no could be expected from his back, a lifetime of lifting: cement ...
Lights at Skipper’s Cove
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Looking like iridescent parachutes, jellyfi sh drifted below us, a visual echo of the small puffy clouds overhead. The motor quietly occasionally glancing sternward to keep our four lines straight. My friend Nick sat in one of the deck chairs, his eleven-year-old son, Billy, in the other. It was hot. The western seascape glittered—hyp-...
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...“That felt good,” said Lynne, coming out of the water. She tow-eled her blonde-streaked hair and sat down at a table with Rick under a big blue umbrella. It was four o’clock, the sun still fi ery. Owen, Lynne’s husband, had just arrived from several emergency cases and was still fl oating in the pool, his belly above water. Lynne ...
A Perfect Time
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...studied the ocean. It was sunny and blue, but still too windy, white-caps all the way to a freighter that rode the horizon. On the beach, waves were tall and broke far from shore, giving long rides to the kids on boogie boards. A perfect day—except for boating, at least for launching through the surf. Part of him wished he didn’t have ...
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...ing a raccoon atop the bird feeder and talking to the same guy who called yesterday, a well-oiled baritone named Booger Siems. Booger lived about forty miles away and wondered if Greg could meet him just west of the city: Greg, I think we kin make us a deal. If it’s in the condition you say. The speed limit don’t hit fi fty-fi ve ’til you git out past ...
Diving the Wreck
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W.scendell didn’t want to be thinking bitter thoughts. Be think-ing, period. That’s why he sat at the open-sided bar on the Reef’s back deck. A low sun left copper streaks on the water. Red and white oleanders swayed along the walkway to the fi nger piers where the was uneasy about the arrival of these old friends. “Yeah, let’s do it.”...
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...with her is minimal, I knew the voice immediately, a sharp, nasal ter detailing her political and church activities. Last year her card included a printed leafl et with a color photo of an aborted fetus in a surgical basin. Merry Christmas. Not one for polite preambles, she got right to the point—our aunt Sophie had developed critical ...
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...“You weren’t talking about politicians,” said Nicole. “You were It was sunny, hot, late afternoon. We had been on the road since early morning. Even after New York City, traffi c was heavy, stop-“But he is a politician,” I said. “He schmoozed himself upstairs into administration, then forgot us. That’s what politicians do when ...
Page Count: 168
Publication Year: 2013
Series Editor Byline: N/A