He wasn’t supposed to take a five year old to the bar. “Damned cute!” Coins dropped to the floor for me to grab. I tattled when we got home.
As a child, my Daddy told me the brightly lit hillside was an ancient Indian burial ground. When I grew up, I found out it was a ski slope.
The door slammed, echoing down the long hall. Dad and I both gasped and quickly swept up the crumbs. The cookie monsters were home.
We hear the car door close outside. All of our contributors look at each other, excited and nervous. We gather in the kitchen. Dad’s home.