Authentic Roads

The suitcase hit the floor with a dull thud, the wheel jammed against the doorframe of the apartment

The salon smelled like hairspray and lily-of-the-valley, and outside the window a July storm was hammering

I check people in at Dr. Hartwell's office three days a week, which means I've seen just about

"Danny, have you seen my work boots?" Mark stuck his head out of the hallway closet, sock feet

The Piedmont Women's Hospital delivery floor smelled like burnt coffee and the industrial lemon

The Weekend Separation I run the general store out at Cutter's Landing on Lake Winnisquam, and if

The doctor said the words like he was reading them off a chart he'd read a hundred times before

The moment I lit the last candle on the unity table, my phone buzzed against the folding chair where I'

I've run the front counter at Milldale Auto Repair on Route 9 for six years, and I can tell you

Margaret Colby had been riding the same route for forty-one years — Providence to Boston, six-forty in