The Farmer’s Wife

Field mice tell lies better than my husband when he began to fail, first in the evenings, counting out the rows and weights of the day’s downed wheat. his fingers an abacus on mother’s old plaid oilcloth. He counted the season’s crop, the winter’s stock, winnowing numbers over and over until no space remained in … More The Farmer’s Wife

Expert

We’d never spoken, only nodded greetings to one another in the ripening daylight. We park in the same lot, lock our cars and make our way to the small terminal. He is large and walks slowly, his pack looks like a child’s across his wide, rounded shoulders. His eyes are dark pebbles behind his glasses. … More Expert