At Least He Didn’t Put His Hand on Your Thigh
Beth and Kathleen met outside the surgeon’s office five minutes before their scheduled meeting with him.
The Writing Life
Vignettes and short fiction by Susann Camus. Drawn from a natural observer’s eye; humorous, observational, and sometimes connected to themes in the Jeannie Johal thrillers.
Beth and Kathleen met outside the surgeon’s office five minutes before their scheduled meeting with him.
The pool beckoned, a shiny jewel in a sea of white structures and green shrubs. The gleaming blue tiles were surrounded by patio stones bleached white by the scalding sun.
Her name was Matilda Manor and she looked like a waif. Her raven hair cascaded down to her waist, while the sleeves of her jacket crept over her thin wrists.
She was dressed to impress. It was her first day working as an intern in the Arboretum, and Mindy was eager to please Ingrid, her mentor.
It was one of the dog days of summer in Greenville, N.C., with ‘excessive heat’ health advisories issued. Lizzie planned to spend most of the day in her new in-ground fiberglass pool.
Enid wondered why her husband was having difficulty sleeping after all these years of getting eight hours without any interruptions.
Cathy couldn’t wait for Dan, her husband, to open his birthday gift. For weeks, she’d been wondering what to get him.
Clare had always been quiet. Her parents told her that she didn’t speak until she was three years old, and then only in response to direct questions.
Clare and Laurie were munching on their salads when Clare suddenly pushed away her plate. It was 1 p.m., and they were scheduled to deliver a 45-minute presentation at 4 p.m.
They’d met twenty-five years ago to the day. He was a medical physicist, completing his residency at a nuclear research site. She was a writer, assigned to translate complex scientific concepts into simple English.