Honestly Dearest, You're Dead

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Once again, Missy Lyda, Eric Frisch, Mary Anne Bigane, and Joseph Bigane III worked at more than the words.

Once again, Kate Scherler worked at more than direction.

Once again, Patrick Riley worked at more than the Web site.

Once again, Marcia Markland and Diana Szu worked at more than keeping everything moving forward, and once again India Cooper smoothed over everything I missed, and some of the things I should have.

And once again, as she has for forever, Susan…

Lucky me.

She wouldn’t have heard the back door glass being punched out, not in those winds. Later, the blueberry cop would say the Gazette reported they gusted up to fifty miles an hour, and that was in Kalamazoo, safer inland. Where she was, close to Lake Michigan, they would have raged louder. Hawking across the ice cliffs at the shore, building their furies as they screamed across the frozen fields, sucking the red branches of the lifeless blueberry bushes into grotesque tendrils, like twists of frozen blood, the winds could have hit her narrow little cottage at sixty, seventy miles an hour. Shingles clattering, windows banging, her place must have sounded like a cheap pine coffin being beat on by a hundred angry hands. She wouldn’t have heard the glass break.

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