Excerpt from “Stars, Wings, and Knitting Things” by J.G. Formato:
I didn’t tell him the news until I’d placed the last raisin in my oatmeal. The wise and wrinkled happy face I’d created was quite encouraging. “Marcus,” I said, waiting for acknowledgement and eye contact. His eyes were still mostly contacting the Wall Street Journal, so I cleared my throat and dinged my spoon on his mug. Announcement style.
He emerged from the paper and frowned at the ripples in his coffee. “Why’d you do that? I was reading.”
“Were you?” I asked, genuinely curious. I always thought his morning paper was like an adult security blanket. But instead of making him feel safe and loved, it made him feel all grown-up and professional. Ready to join the Rat Race. Reading it for fun was a totally different story and not nearly as endearing.
“Of course I was, Annie. Now, what were you going to say?”
“I think the house is haunted.”
“You think the house is haunted?
“Mm-hm.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw a ghost.” Why else would I think the house was haunted?
“Where?”
“In the backyard. It was kind of swooshing all around by the swing set.”
“So, really, you think the backyard is haunted.” He looked very pleased with himself, like he scored a point or something. All those years of law school must have really paid off.
“Okay, fair enough. If you want to pick nits, I think the backyard is haunted.”
“What did it look like? Your ghost?”
“It was white, of course. And shimmery. Oh, and it had wings.”
“Like an angel?”
“No, not like an angel. Angels don’t haunt people’s backyards.”
“Of course.” He smacked his forehead—but in a smartassy way, not an oh, duh kind of way.