Michigan Quarterly Review, January 1st, 2002
The emptiness of the stage surprises Sheila. One small bed in the center. One small mullioned window (no curtains) on the far left wall. One wooden door on the right. Other than that, nothing. No broad-shaded lamp to cast warm light over puffed-up pillows. No stuffed chair to cozy into. No carpet. No hearth for a fire. Just the wooden post bed, a small braided throw rug on the pine floor, and-Sheila notices only now-a man kneeling utterly still, his head bowed over a girl lying comatose on the bed.
Sheila counts the rows as she walks down the aisle. "Sit here," she says to Tom, five rows from...
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