Sunrise in Cape May

The chilly Atlantic laps at Susannah Fontaine-Williams's feet. The tide is coming in and soon the waves touch her knees then recede past her ankles, before the next one stretches to her thighs. She lay face down, her face turned to a side either asleep or unconscious; she doesn't know yet. The next wave ebbs, leaving … Continue reading Sunrise in Cape May

Something akin to an epilog

It turned out that Walt preferred being a dog, all instinct, and oh, don’t get him started about all the information coming in through that marvelous nose. It was as if he’d been living in a flat, soundless world suddenly endowed with dimension and orchestration. Sure, he missed his thumbs and the ability to grasp … Continue reading Something akin to an epilog

Susannah and the gummy treat

Susannah Fontaine-Williams searched Walt's lab, looking for Walt, or at least a note. Walt would expect her and if he was out, would leave a note. That's just the way he was. However, Walt was in a most decided state of not being there. She spied her bag on the table under the cold glare of fluorescent … Continue reading Susannah and the gummy treat

Checking out

Susannah Fontaine-Williams is dozing in her hospital bed. At a few minutes after 1:00 PM she jolts awake. She’s forgotten about her show and it’s on live in an hour. She should be in the studio finalizing everything, having lunch with a guest, schmoozing the audience, doing all of the things she usually does. She … Continue reading Checking out

Anchovies and mozzarella pizza

Walt was famished and though anxious to inspect and perform any necessary repairs to the bag, he stopped at Arturo’s for anchovies with mozzarella pizza. The anchovy fascinated him, repulsive, yet savory, ill-textured for the tongue, but somehow irresistable when combined with a crispy thin coal oven pizza base. He quickly downed the baked clams … Continue reading Anchovies and mozzarella pizza

What about Bob?

Bob is standing next to Susannah Fontaine-Williams’s hospital bed. Macallan slouches in a chair on the other side of the bed, eyes shut, a crossword puzzle on his lap. Bob grasps her hands in his. A Dylan song plays dreamily, coming from someone’s phone or tablet.  (Bob backstory here.) My love, she speaks like silence … Continue reading What about Bob?

Visiting hours

Macallan doesn’t mind hospitals the way other people do. He gets some peace, some quiet, finds some meditation in the beeps and blinks of monitors and equipment. Hospitals are interesting mixtures of folks either waiting to die or desperate not to, sometimes sharing the same hospital suite. Susannah Fontaine-Williams, still unconscious, lay in the bed … Continue reading Visiting hours