Where I'm Calling From
“He pulled into the drive and stopped beside the pie he’d dropped the night before. It was still there, the aluminum pan upside down, a halo of pumpkin filling on the pavement. It was the day after Christmas.
He’d come on Christmas day to visit his wife and children. Vera had warned him beforehand. She’d told him the score. She’d said he had to be out by six o’clock because her friend and his children were coming for dinner.
They had sat in the living room and solemnly opened the present...s Burt had brought over. They had opened his packages while other packages wrapped in festive paper lay piled under the tree waiting for after six o’clock.
He had watched the children open their gifts, waited while Vera undid the ribbon on hers. He saw her slip off the paper, lift the lid, take out the cashmere sweater.
“It’s nice,” she said. “Thank you, Burt.”
“Try it on,”MoreLess
He’d come on Christmas day to visit his wife and children. Vera had warned him beforehand. She’d told him the score. She’d said he had to be out by six o’clock because her friend and his children were coming for dinner.
They had sat in the living room and solemnly opened the present...s Burt had brought over. They had opened his packages while other packages wrapped in festive paper lay piled under the tree waiting for after six o’clock.
He had watched the children open their gifts, waited while Vera undid the ribbon on hers. He saw her slip off the paper, lift the lid, take out the cashmere sweater.
“It’s nice,” she said. “Thank you, Burt.”
“Try it on,”MoreLess
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