Savannah is shivering. Her coat with a down-filled lining offers little in the way of protection from the bone-chilling winds of December while the cold temperature wreaks havoc with her mood. She should have taken her car instead of the subway. At least it will have offered her shelter from the inclement weather.
Her eyes water as she attempts to focus on the apartment complex across the street with her binoculars. She thinks of calling it quits for the umpteenth time that day, but five thousand dollars is incentive enough to stay the course and see it through. Her subject is still in there. Of that, she is certain. After all, she has seen no one that matches his description exit through the front door.

Several hours later under the diminishing light of day, the investigator is ready to leave when a lone figure emerges from the entryway of the building. She immediately withdraws a camera from her pocket, removes her gloves, activates the night mode and takes a series of pictures.

After the man starts to walk along the sidewalk, Savannah pockets the camera, dons her gloves, quickly squeezes between two parked cars and darts across the street. Exhausted, mission accomplished, she walks in the direction of the nearest subway. Her former target appears to have the same plan, so she maintains enough of a distance to stay unnoticed. When the subway sign, suddenly appears, he descends a flight of stairs that leads to the underground. Savannah reaches the top of the stairs.

Once again, she feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She hesitates and considers her next move. But an unexpected push from behind catches her unawares, and she tumbles down the flight of stairs, and into a sea of darkness.

As she opens her eyes, she frowns. She tries to support herself on one elbow, but her head throbs, and she falls back onto the cement floor.

“Don’t try to sit up,” says a stern voice out of her line of sight. “You must have hit your head when you fell.” “You attracted some spectators, but I said I will take care of the situation.”

“What happened?”Savannah asks.

She shivers as a man peers down at her with empathy. His face looks vaguely familiar. “I found you unconscious at the bottom of the stairs.”

“How long have I been lying here?”

“I have no idea.” “I just arrived myself.”

“I have to go,” Savannah whispers before she closes her eyes and loses consciousness.

“You’re not going anywhere except the hospital,” he says softly, as he removes a camera from her coat pocket. He dislikes his sister-in-law, is frustrated with his brother’s infidelity, but this is the last time he intervenes and seizes the evidence.

The wail of a siren is heard in the distance.

​

My wife Jenna was going to leave me soon for another man. He has more money than me. She said that's not the reason, not at all, but she and I both know better.

I cried and begged Jenna not to leave me, that I would try counseling with her if that's what she wanted, but she told me coldly that there's absolutely no chance of us having a reconciliation.

Even worse, my 15-year-old daughter Shelley was actually happy about it. She's been cold to me like her mom, and her eyes danced in greedy anticipation.

I was heartbroken, but I finally just accepted it. However, I did ask them to stay until our annual 4th of July party was over. They reluctantly agreed.

It was a great party. Family, friends, music; I grilled steaks and burgers, and Jenna even made her popular potato salad. We had beer for the adults and sodas for the kids. I asked Shelley if she'd like her first beer; that I thought she was old enough to try it. She was shocked, but she took one willingly. I winked at her, but she just looked at me suspiciously, as did Jenna.

Oh, and the fireworks...can't forget those. I spared no expense and they were fantastic.

And amazingly, I was the life of the party. Everyone loved my jokes and antics. I told them all some of my previously untold and embarrassing stories, like the time I farted super loud while losing my virginity with one of my high school teachers. Her husband was outside and heard my fart. He ran in, saw us, and screamed at us. I ran all the way home naked. They moved not long after that. Everyone laughed their asses off while I told that story. I also twerked to an Ariana Grande song (in spite of everything, Shelley still insisted on picking most of the party music). People were laughing so hard, some of them almost choked. Jenna and Shelley blushed, shook their heads, and covered their faces, but I saw their grins breaking through.

My friend Tim said, "Goddamn, Bill! I don't know what's gotten into you, but you oughta do it more! You're funny as shit tonight!"

I modestly said, "I know it."

Jenna and Shelley stayed close together throughout the evening. At one point, I saw them exchange a look that could have meant, Are we doing the wrong thing? Well, if it was, it was too late for that.

It was nearing the end of the party, and it was time for the big finale. I didn't wanna make a big production of it, I was just gonna do it. While everyone was eating cake and ice cream, I put a lit fireworks mortar on my head and said loudly to Jenna and Shelley, "Happy 4th and forever to my two special girls!"

Last thing I heard was people screaming "No!" I think Shelley even screamed "Daddy!", something she hadn't called me in years.
​

Phillip sat at his desk. He’d just completed an inventory of the day, what he’d accomplished and what remained to be done. It hadn’t been a long list, but each item had taken a significant amount of time. He was glad the done portion was complete and that there weren’t too many items remaining to do. Now he leaned back in his chair and surveyed the room. He liked this room. He felt comfortable in it.

His eyes were tired both from getting up early and the concentrated effort. He considered a lie-down, not so much because of his need for sleep, or even rest, but to ease his eyes.

On second thought, he realized, if he stopped now he probably would never go back to the list, he knew himself well enough to know that he’d simply write the remaining items on tomorrow’s page and he’d find ways to procrastinate through the remainder of the day.

He’d read, watch television (he was a huge watcher as well as reader of mysteries) or simply go back and forth to his desk, checking his email or other follow-ups that he regularly checked, but the To Do list would remain untouched.

Phillip was not a procrastinator, however, in what would normally be considered a negative sense. He always got a lot done, but it was the simple things that always seemed to be put on the back burner in favor of doing something new.

In the end, Phillip decided that if he didn’t finish the list, at least once, he’d never complete it. Only four things, he thought, but each of them involved multiple steps and a variety of other things that he simply didn’t feel like doing so, as much as his mind told him to do them Phillip simply lacked the willpower to force his body to obey his commands and he allowed himself to slip into the miasma of prevarication.

Phillip sat at his desk. He completed another inventory of the list, put it aside and opened his computer to check his email.
​

Archie

Good morning. I have several perfectly reasonable requests to make. I know, I know, I am a cell phone. How is that even possible? Okay, just humor me.

Request #1. I see that you just popped a piece of cinnamon roll in your mouth. Now, you are licking your fingers. You can touch me, but only after you wash your hands. Smudges and I don’t see, eye to eye. By the way, another piece of bread just fell out of your mouth, and it has landed on me. Oh, my goodness. Next time, you might want to chew with your mouth closed.

Request #2. Every so often, clean my screen. No, not with the dirty towel the dog likes to drag across the living room floor. For your information, I respond best to a gentle wipe from a microfiber cloth. It is far more effective.

Request #3. On our way to the bathroom again, are we? If my memory serves me right, we were just in there. It may have something to do with that cinnamon bun you just ate. Try gluten-free next time. I am sure your intestinal tract will thank you for it. Or, enter the bathroom without me. Instead, take a magazine or two. You have my permission. Anyway, I could use some alone time.

Request #4. Keep me off the rim of the bathtub. A previous incident serves as a timely reminder. You sat me on the rim. I slipped, and landed on the bottom. It was quite the ride, and I still experience blackouts.

Request #5. Okay, if you must hold me while you do your business, please make it snappy. I have plans for the day.

Request #6. I am not waterproof, so try not to drop me in the toilet bowl. That one time was enough.

Request #7. Please wash your hands. Thank you.

1.

The Mother is estranged from her sister. Her husband and her do not see eye to eye.

The Husband says the Aunt is a bully. The Aunt says the Husband is a drunk.

The Mother longs for a ceasefire. Her only focus now is her two young sons.

The younger son misses his Aunt because she praises his mediocre school reports.

The older son has reservations about all of his family. He is only eleven and knows he must be resilience.

2.

The doorbell rings. The girlfriend Mother hears a girlfriend say: Hello It’s Only Me.

The Mother is uneasy. No appointment has been made.

The two sons are fighting in the sitting room.

The Mother wonders what her husband will say and if she has enough milk for coffee. The last time met this girlfriend he was unpleasant. I refuse to compromise with stupid people he said.

I’ve got another surprise for you. I’ve brought my family says the girlfriend.

3.

The girlfriend beckons in her husband and their teenage son. The Mother hugs them with a few tears. You’ve grown so tall she says to the boy. Tall as the jolly green giant thinks the younger son.

One final surprise says the girlfriend pointing at the open front door.

The estranged Aunt walks in with her daughter and husband. The Mother is flummoxed. Sorry. I’m a Trojan Horse says the girlfriend. Everyone has an unconfident face.

This is quite a lot to take in says the Mother humbly as if she’s won a big prize. I wish you’d let me know in advance.

It wouldn’t have happened if we had says the Aunt.

4.

The older son senses unease. The younger son senses opportunity. He hugs his Aunt and asks the tall teenager if he can climb onto his shoulders because he’s never been that far off the floor.

The teenager laughs and helps him climb up his back. The Aunt asks the older son: How Have You Been. The older son feels hunted and retreats into the sitting room.

Who’s that?

Everyone hears his voice. Eyes glance and faces freeze.

What the FUCK do you think you are doing says the Father.

I’m touching the ceiling says the younger son from the shoulders of the tall teenager.

5.

There is a mêlée of adults and hurtful words. The adults are immobile, fixed like bad actors to a spot and hurl words at each other in loud, trembling voices.

Soon only the Father and Aunt shout. The others pour balm and hand out olive branches. The Mother says: It’s just lunch. An attempt at reunion.

The Father leaves to smash kitchen plates. The Mother picks up her coat. The younger son is downstairs ready to go, already.

The older son has tied himself to a table to symbolise his rejection of a reunion and loyalty to his Father. He will always remember this morning as a farce, including his own theatricality.
​