"H'lo."
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Every night in January it's the same. The old man and I meet one another on the road.
"H'lo," I say.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Shoulders hunched, the old man disappears into the twilight. He wears a hunting jacket and bat-wing goloshes. I'm returning from my evening walk with Ralph, our golden lab, and the old man's off to--where? That's the million dollar question. In spite of my resolve to ignore it, I toss and turn in the middle of the night, wondering.
"To slit someone's gizzard," Matthew teases, while clearing the supper table. He brandishes a butter knife under my nose. "The old fart's a serial killer, Samantha. Carries body parts and a set of Ginsu knives in his knapsack. Slices fingers and toes and eyeballs and buries them at the beach. That's why Ralph never barks at him. He knows he's pure evil."
"Yeah, right." I roll my eyes.
"Sam, Sam, Sam." Matthew moves close, bracing the counter on either side of me. My fingers tighten around the salad bowl. I raise it between us like a shield.
"I...I miss you Sam." Matthew kisses me hard on the mouth. His chin is scratchy. "I...I miss us, together."
Hope you have enjoyed this excerpt from Roads Unravelling published by Sumach Press.
