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Goldie’s Tumour

Worrell, P.J. Thistledown Press ePub

Goldie’s Tumour

MARTIN IS HEADED WEST ON THE Number 1 back to Calgary. He’s half-listening to Q107 and picturing some guy porking Lenore. The image makes his back arch and his right foot flex up off the gas pedal. A transport truck passes him, then a fancy RV.

A green and white sign reads “Kildare 1 km”. He makes a spur-of-the-moment decision, touches the brake, switches lanes, makes a left turn, crosses the divided highway, and bumps across railroad tracks on a narrow gravel road.

Three farm trucks are angle-parked in front of Debbie’s Country Café with “OPEN” flashing in red neon. New Horizons for Seniors is next door, and across the street is Propp’s Foodeteria. Martin burns a Uey, parks, opens his car door, dumps a styrofoam cup of sunflower seed shells, gets out. The businesses on either side of the grocery store are boarded up.

If Martin’s parents were alive, he’d ask them, “What were you thinking, bringing up five boys in the armpit of Saskatchewan?” One of the armpits. Maybe they’d say they got stuck in Kildare with its one grocery store, one café, one school, one church. One-of-each-ville. More like nothing-ville.

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Asters

Worrell, P.J. Thistledown Press ePub

Asters

RACHEL IS ON ONE KNEE AT the front door tying her laces when she hears them come in from the garage and set down heavy bags, probably groceries, on the kitchen counter. David brings the carseat into the living room. Lilia is making snuffly piggy noises.

“Mother, could you take Lilia for a walk while we fix dinner?” Obviously they had planned this on the drive home.

“But I was just about to go for my run,” she says over her shoulder, then stands up and stretches her back. “Oh, I suppose I could. I want to check out the autumn flora. I’ll run in the morning instead.”

“I noticed some scraggly asters. We’ve had a touch of frost.” David is dressing Lilia in a red sweater no doubt knit painstakingly by the other grandmother. Her arms resist being forced into the sleeves. “The daycare said Lilia was fussy. It’s her teeth.”

“You cut your teeth without any problems.”

“She has all of the symptoms,” Avery interjects from the kitchen, like it’s the second verse of a duet. It’s her teeth, it’s her teeth.

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