Short Story : ' The Rain Still Ticked At The Window Sill From Last Night '
Brrnnnnng, brrnnnnng! Startled, I grabbed hold of the chair handle. Bits of wood nestled in my nails, but I did not notice this until later. I focused my attention on the phone’s persistent ringing, and pondered whether or not I should pick it up. Hesitantly, I made up my mind and reached for the mouth piece.
“Hello.” I said, trying my best to sound contained. We don’t get phone calls often in Lake Wobegon, the neighbors live close enough to visit each other, if there ever was a need to.
“Is that you, dad?” Carl’s tensed voice came through the earpiece. “Did you leave mom alone at the truck stop yesterday? She said that you were angry or something, and she was in pretty rough shape when I picked her up. You know, crying and shivering. Is everything alright?”
I glanced at Myrtle, who was tending the field outside, and I felt butterflies. In my mind, I painted a picture of…