WEN: 096A33
Exhibitor Name: Daniella Smith
Division: Creative Writing--
Class: 04 Short Stories (
“Yes,” I said, eyes flitting back to the delicate china in my hands. Marie looked taken aback, and she ran an aging hand through her hair. “Christ, didn’t Artie have you do that last week?”
I chuckled a bit while shrugging. “His backwards demands aren’t new, Marie. Frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t have me trim invisible leaves off weeds.”
Lips quirking in a smirk, Marie looked twenty again. “By next week, his front yard will just be dirt, you hear? I’ll bet you a Franklin.”
“Don’t feel like losing a month’s work of cash.”
Marie’s laughter filled the small kitchen, and I genuinely smiled. I say this because as odd as it is, I don’t smile often. Smirks, frowns, grimaces, sarcastic grins, you name it. Smiles are weird, though. Opportunities to smile are very scarce here. But they bloom on my face when I least expect them to with Marie, and it’s nice. “That’s very smart of you, hon. Shame you’re confined to garden work.” I waved a dismissive hand, reaching for a scone. Changing the subject, I cleared my throat. “Anyone live with Wyatt?” Seemingly surprised at the sudden turn in the conversation, Marie’s eyebrows drew together. “Artie? Not that I know of, the secretive bastard tells me nuttin’. Why?” “I-” Then I hesitated. Wyatt’s private life was none of my concern, yet curiosity bubbled up my throat. The haunting image of the tall, pale ghost loomed in the back of my head, and it wasn’t going away anytime soon. I bit into my scone and mulled over my next words carefully. “Well, hm. I saw someone trying to leave Wyatt’s house today.”
Marie raised an eyebrow. “Christ, who?”
“Well, I don’t know. I was hoping you did.”
“I might,” Marie said carefully, setting her teacup down, “describe them to me.”
“Weirdly young woman; my age, maybe? Older, probably. But not by much.”
“ Your
age? What’s he doing with a woman your age ?”
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