Harlan Covington

TWO LATTES. “Good evening, Margaret Edith! The usual, two lattes?” I asked with a smile

A tiny hand pokes through the garden fence, reaching for ripe strawberries. I pretend not to notice

The Shadow Behind the Smile Nobody in the university department would have guessed—or believed—that Eleanor

**Family Strife Makes an Unhappy Home** *I hate him! He’s not my father! He should just leave.

**Diary Entry** I never thought a simple errand would unravel into something so horrifying.

**Cursed Love** *What will happen now?* Charlotte asked anxiously, more to herself than to her sweetheart.

**To Friend or Not to Friend?** “Dad, stop being such a mardy git! I’m not asking you to

Uncle Mike was a funny sort. Clumsy as a bear cub, short and round with curly hair, tiny blue eyes like

“Where did you get this photo?” James paled as he stared at the picture of his missing father.

I don’t know about other single women, but all sorts of oddities seem drawn to me. Last night, for instance