Tony Covatta

Boss Baxter Bigg invited Ray to attend POTUS’s speech. Afterwards, POTUS worked the room, chatting with his cousin Clyde who sat by Ray, then greeting Bigg: “Bax! What’s up?” Amazing. Yale classmates. Bigg introduced Ray to POTUS. They shot the breeze, cordially shook hands. Clyde wanted an autograph for cousin Calvin. POTUS: “Sure. Got a pen?” Bigg brandished his cherished Montblanc. POTUS signed, pocketed the pen, turned quickly away. Bigg flung himself at him: “Mr. Preside

Grammar school seniors Nick and Mick were altar boys that month for early mass. They played a game. First to the sacristy each day signed in for both of them, inserting profane or scatological nickname for the latecomer. Midmonth they came to their senses. Sister Cunégonde would expel them if she survived discovery of the unholy mess. Ever ingenious, they filched blank sheets and recreated the defiled pages sans profanity and scatology, deep-sixing the evidence. Phew. Silence

Grandma rode home with the kids from a family funeral. “Gran, what’s that potted plant by Uncle Rocco’s gravestone?” “Rocky was our first at college. The day he arrived, his roommate already had a jade plant in their room. Rocky loved it. His roommate’s mom gave him his own at graduation. “He always kept one, his charm, he said, for his luck in life, good jobs, finer things, his nieces and nephews. He paid to have one decorate his grave in summer and be housed in winter. The

On their first date, Mike and Mimi, second timers both, drove thirty miles to the Cineplex. After five miles Mike knew. Not Mimi’s good figure, streaked blonde hair, striking attire. It was her voice. She listened to, remarked, engaged Mike as if he were the only person and they had all the time in the world. Open, direct, Mimi answered Mike’s questions without affect, neither showing off nor discounting herself. He wanted to hear the music of her graceful, empathic lilt fore

Clotilda: “Sugar, here are the week’s pills for Aunt Tillie.” Matilda: “Thanks. You are so nice to supervise Tillie’s care.” “It’s only been seven years. Mom and Dad are gone. I’m single, no kids. She’s my only relative. Keeps me going.” “She loves you so much.” “Sweetie-pie, you’re the one, her primary caregiver. She’s leaving you a bundle.” “Another dark ‘n’ stormy?” “Sure, tall, dark ‘n’ handsome.” “Clotilda, what brings you to Bermuda? “Inheritance from my rich aunt Tilli

Solitary Sid surprised himself, attended Marcia and Marty’s do. Cynical Sid always told the same “joke:” “They’ve invited their 250 closest friends.” Not tonight, Sidney. He’d long been out of circulation. Turnout sparse, they’d more likely invited the hundred they knew were still alive. Unsettled Sid circulated, chatted up the lame and the halt, joshed the chair bound, jollied the crutch riding, joked with widows and widowers. He skipped sipping wine, chugged a double bourbo

Intrepid Miles and Molly disembarked from the Colonsay-Oban ferry late afternoon, headed for the Yorkshire dales, hours southeast. Darkness fell, roads narrowed. A disconcerting sign: “GPS inaccurate, one lane ahead, pay particular attention to oncoming traffic.” “Miles, what? Late night, cattle path to Aylsgarth. Have you ever paid ‘particular attention’ to anything?” “We’re going.” Molly comes to, surrounded by white coats and scrubs. “This isn’t ‘The Rectory’ at Aylsgarth,

Cute, curvy single mom Wendy asked: “Man my haunted house for the kids? We’ll have fun.” Bachelor Ben pitched right in, helping decorate and place props. Wendy, meticulous planner, tireless designer, arranged it all: thunder, lightning, giant spiders, open coffins, creaking doors, bloody piles of entrails, bones, eerie echoes. Halting slobbering zombie Ben stumbled after the kids down a narrowing, wobbly hallway. The screaming kids fled terrified, tearful, trembling as chortl

Clotilda: “Sugar, here are the week’s pills for Aunt Tillie.” Matilda: “Thanks. You are so nice to supervise Tillie’s care.” “It’s only been seven years. Mom and Dad are gone. I’m single, no kids. She’s my only relative. Keeps me going.” “She loves you so much.” “Sweetie-pie, you’re the one, her primary caregiver. She’s leaving you a bundle.” “Another dark ‘n’ stormy?” “Sure, tall, dark ‘n’ handsome.” “Clotilda, what brings you to Bermuda? “Inheritance from my rich aunt Tilli

“Well, Sam?” “Sigmunda, I had this weird dream. You and I made passionate love after I shot my wife Sally.” “Wonderful! Finally, you understand our deep mutual desire. We will kill Sally together, then move to Vienna. There bliss awaits us.” “Whoa Doc! Remember transference? I want to resolve issues, not commit murder, nor run off with you. We’re done.” “You reject me? You’ll be very sorry.” Sam called Sally. “Sigmunda has slipped a cog. You can’t believe—” “Oh, but I do. She

White coated Dr. Atropos cut the thread: “Incurable, Millie. Sorry.” “How long?” asked Millie and care-giving husband Mike. “How long?” was implied in every glance, conversation, message, call. Mike nursed Millie. Reluctant, ending each day, he stuffed its events into a box, stacked it untied by the invisible door into the dark. As the boxes piled up, Millie’s smiles engendered Mike’s smiles back, created a ribbon between them. They no longer asked nor heard “How long?” With

Nick at Mike’s retirement party: “Mike, old friend, congrats on your forty years. I always hoped you’d come to work for me.” “Nick, I enjoyed my summer clerkship for you but things just didn’t work out.” (Mike remembers Nick grabbing back his paycheck, mistakenly drafted for fifty dollars too much.) “Nick—we treated Mike too well. Right from the start,” joked boss Dick. (Dick remembers Mike’s first payday, Mike’s declaring—“Dick, you overpaid, gave me more than agreed. It amo

Clotilda: “Sugar, here are the week’s pills for Aunt Tillie.” Matilda: “Thanks. You are so nice to supervise Tillie’s care.” “It’s only been seven years. Mom and Dad are gone. I’m single, no kids. She’s my only relative. Keeps me going.” “She loves you so much.” “Sweetie-pie, you’re the one, her primary caregiver. She’s leaving you a bundle.” “Another dark ‘n’ stormy?” “Sure, tall, dark ‘n’ handsome.” “Clotilda, what brings you to Bermuda? “Inheritance from my rich aunt Tilli

“So sorry to learn your Frances died, Gino. I just had to put Alex in care. Alzheimers.” “Thanks for your note Amanda,” he replies. “Sorry about Alex. Need help? Let’s get through this together.” She emails: “Gino, I’m OK, but lonely. Meet for coffee sometime?” “Sure. This Friday?” Gino learned to accept missing Frances, as Amanda did Alex, who soon passed. Friends raised eyebrows. How quickly it all came together! “You say it was the condolences. They just don’t believe it.”

Ken Davis was leaving the seminary. Five years. He’d had enough: constant bells, restriction to grounds, daily chapel, a faith no longer believed, nightly vision of well-lit homes across the way, peopled by families he would never have. His mother picked him up, in tears. “How can you do this? I was so proud, wanted to see you graduate, ordained. I never stopped telling my friends.” Or thinking of herself. Slowing the car, she pointed back, demanded: “See what you’re giving u