Helen’s memorable luncheon at the Wisconsin Club with Renard and Harry Michaels had not quite gone according to plan. Oh, the table was perfect and the airlifted lobster had been sublime, as had the warm-from-the-oven, cracked red wheat dinner rolls and the lush tomato salad. But the casually rehearsed presentation of Murray’s wishes for Helen, on account of the awkward nature of the request, had been put off to the dessert course. Continue reading Unthinkable→
When Murray was recovering from his fall off the roof the previous June he sought Renard’s advice on what to do with the four wooden crates he kept in his basement. They were each the size of a long piano bench, pine boards with maple strapping. Three had been nailed shut, and one was open to collect the remainder of the papers, recordings, momentos and artifacts that Murray would be selecting to preserve. Continue reading Artifacts→
In the letter she received from Harry Michaels on the first day of December, he did not overtly disclose to Helen that he was the executor of Murray’s estate. Before she even opened it, she’d come very close to mistakenly throwing it in the recycling pile, as it looked like one of those cheeky junk mail offerings that feigns authenticity by using fake handwriting in the address. But then she remembered the name on the ivory envelope and connected it to the lawyerly-looking man who approached her after the funeral. Continue reading Bequeathed→
The way Helen had it figured, she was going to be there for Murray no matter what. Which is why she knew she had to speak her piece at his funeral. It’s also why she felt compelled to attend the reception afterwards, which was in a large hall south of downtown, hosted by the Veterans of Foreign Wars.
“I’m kinda guessin’ an older crowd,” Rick said, as he drove across the Menomonee River. Continue reading Piano→
Stories, dreams, and landscapes from the Inland Northwest
