The monsoon broke over the Santa Catalina Mountains just as the waiter set down a second basket of tortilla
It started with the keys I never gave back. My name is Marta Wieczorek, I'm thirty-four, and I work
The ice did it. A patch of black ice on my own front walk, invisible under the porch light, and there
Claire hit the gas a little harder than she meant to on I-5 north of Salem. The speedometer jumped to
The GPS said forty-one minutes, but the rain made it an hour. Emily Sorensen drove with one hand, her
On the last Saturday of August, the swamp cooler rattled like a coffee can full of screws. Megan was
The phone buzzed against the quartz countertop for the fourth time that Saturday morning. Lauren didn'
The first time I saw her at the church door, I thought she was a stray. It was a Tuesday evening in late
The permission slip came home on a Tuesday, folded under a half-eaten granola bar at the bottom of Maya’s backpack.
The photo stayed on the hallway bulletin board all spring. Twenty kids in dusty sneakers, red rock behind