He had to be precise, yet his hand trembled and the candies came tumbling down. He stormed out of the store cursing his conscience again.
Ann became devout the day her husband died because the night before she had held his photo and sobbed and prayed — that God would destroy him.
“Take her out!” Jules was told. So he did. It was a nice clean shot too. But then his boss phoned to ask if his wife was having a good time.
“I can’t do this,” Martha wiped away her tears. “I won’t cry for you, anymore.” She rolled his body into the river. “Never again.”
When we were finished, she tossed a handful of tissues toward me. But it was difficult to wipe away, the ink from her fingerprint kit.
“He was a saint, an inspiration! Father Joe will be missed.” We lied through counterfeit smiles and timorous skin for the entire funeral.