Robert Steven Williams

For three weeks each October, the sun struck the north wing of the King Apartment projects. On the seventh floor, it streamed through apartment D's window security bars, framing the crucifix on the living room wall in shadow. Granny Jack had dismissed talk of omens over the years, but this month she was tempted to move that cross because Willie, her son, was due home from prison. His return should have been cause for celebration, but she had custody of his kids, and the eldest, Davida, wanted no part of her daddy’s return.

“I don’t care who he is, if he stays, we’re leaving,” Davida had said that afternoon.

“And how are you gonna take care of your little brother and get through college, girl?”

“We’ll be fine.”

"You have no idea, do you?"

“I’ll take more hours at the A&P, skip a semester,” Davida said, shoving a pair of tights into the beige suitcase, the very one she and Bobbie-Rae had arrived with eight years ago.

The faded duct tape binding the sides was caked with dust. Granny Jack took a Kleenex and wiped away the dirt. “And where you gonna go?”

“As far away as possible.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, girl.”

“We can’t stay. As far as Bobbie-Rae is concerned, he don’t have a daddy, I don’t see why that should change.”

“But your father’s never even seen the boy. Willie deserves that, don’t he?”

Davida kept packing and didn’t look up.

Granny Jack put a hand on the open lid of the suitcase. “Come here, child.”

Davida was all skin and bones in Granny Jack's arms. The girl never sat long enough for anything to take hold, not food, not love, and now she was on the run again.

She broke from her grandmother’s hold and slipped to the bed. A lion quilt was draped across it. The lion was Davida's favorite animal: proud, majestic, African; but Davida looked anything but proud, sobbing quietly like a wounded animal.

Granny Jack offered a hankie to wipe the tears. “I know Bobbie-Rae is like a son, and Lord knows you’ve been like a mother to him, but the fact is, he’s your brother and only eight years old. You don’t think I’ve got issues with Willie? But he’s paid his penitence, nine long years of it. The Lord says it’s never too late for redemption.”

Davida clutched the handkerchief. “Willie Jackson's never gonna change. You’ve got to want forgiveness.”

Bobbie-Rae ran into the apartment with his ‘Men in Black’ lunch box in tow. He was a wiry kid, with a tight crop of curly-cue hair and toothpick legs. “Where we going?” he asked when he saw the suitcase.

“Davida’s just practicing,” Granny Jack said.

“Practicing?”

“She’s learning how to fold clothes nice and fine so they don’t get no wrinkles.”

“Can I try?” Bobbie-Rae grabbed the tights from the case and unraveled them.

“Don’t,” Davida said. “Let them be.”

“But I can do this,” Bobbie-Rae said. “Watch.” He twisted his lower lip, carefully rolling the tights into a ball.

“That’s great,” Granny Jack said. “Now how about some pie before your homework.”

“It’s pecan, ain’t it? Smells good.”

“What did I tell you about that word?”

“There ain’t no word for ain’t,” he said with a big cheesy smile.

“Bobbie-Rae.”

The boy shrugged his tiny shoulders. ”You know what I mean. Can I still get pie?”

“Of course you can. Go wash up and I’ll be in to cut you a nice sized piece.”

Bobbie-Rae ran out of the bedroom and Granny Jack said, “Come on, D, you know you can’t resist my pie.”

And there was no escaping the sweet syrupy smell in that apartment; but somehow Davida had, much to Granny Jack’s dismay.

I’m all washed up,” Bobbie-Rae hollered from the kitchen.

“Pie’s ready, D.”

“Let me finish.”

“He won’t be released for five more days. What’s the hurry?”

“I want Bobbie-Rae settled by the weekend.”

“And what about his schooling?” Granny Jack said with a pinch of salty love. “You can’t just pull him out.”

“We’re staying at Rolanda’s. Now that her brother has gone to college, she’s got an extra bedroom.”

“Bobbie-Rae can’t walk to school from there.”

Davida rolled her damp eyes. “He’ll take a bus just like all the other kids living by the park.”

“You can’t afford to stay there, she’ll be wanting rent.”

“I’ll make it work.”

Granny Jack gently touched Davida’s elbow, as if that would change her mind. “When your mother died, I promised not to put all this on you. You’ve still got your studies, a life of your own. My goodness, girl, when was the last time you went out on a date?”

“Don’t, please.”

“You’ve been better than most mothers to Bobbie-Rae, but you’re only twenty. You shouldn’t miss the prime of your life the way me and your mama did.”

Davida fiddled with the last pieces to go in the suitcase and as she shut it, the tight-knit fountain of braids in her hair clattered. “You don’t have to worry, we’ll be fine.”

“Let’s have pie,” Granny Jack said.

Davida shut her eyes and sighed. “I’ll be there in a minute, all right?”


The kitchen phone rang and Granny Jack answered it. She covered the mouthpiece with her meaty hand and shouted, “D, five people at the A&P called in sick. Are you here?”

Davida ran into the kitchen saying. “Yes. I need the hours.” She took the phone. “Okay. Sure. By three.”

She hung up and ricocheted about the apartment, first heading into the bathroom, then into the bedroom, then back into the bathroom in search of her red-checkered A&P vest.

“There’s a bus in ten minutes at 2nd and Lincoln,” Granny Jack announced.

The rumpled vest was at the bottom of the laundry basket, dirty; but there was only time to run an iron over it. “Thanks,” she hollered back.

Despite Granny Jack's efforts, the little girl with the quirky smile and loving eyes had grown up too fast. And if Davida left with Bobbie-Rae now, her youth would be lost forever. “I can unpack the suitcase, right?”

“Leave it be,” Davida said.

“But child --”

“We’ll discuss it later, okay?”

Davida had plenty of time to daydream along the 138 possible stops of that twelve-mile journey to the A&P in Riverside. And as the bus drove by a derelict building that once housed a Friendly’s Restaurant, she thought back to that hot summer day last year when she and Granny Jack had taken that same route and the bus broke down. The bloom of the early summer flowers had wilted and the air was dusty. Davida and Granny Jack sat on a pile of rubble underneath a dying oak tree, waiting for the new bus. A sticky sap from the bark dripped onto Davida’s blouse. Granny Jack scrubbed it off with nail polish remover. An hour later, there was still no bus. Granny Jack said, “I’m not too old to remember when the coloreds sat in back. Them laws might have changed, but that’s only cause they don’t ride the bus no more.” Davida nodded, knowing Granny Jack didn’t really dislike white people, but she had a point.

And now as the bus approached Riverside, Davida saw nicer houses, newer cars, fancier stores, and whiter faces -- that was twenty-first century segregation in Davida’s mind. But she still envied the handful of Riverside blacks and often wondered why she wasn't one of them.

“You’re crazy,” her friend Renee had said when Davida had confessed only a few weeks back that she’d love to move there. “How you gonna afford that? They aren’t like us. You won’t be welcomed. Bobbie-Rae will hate it.”

Davida explained that a Riverside education would guarantee Bobbie-Rae a future.

“Yeah, right, the brothers will treat him worse than the whites. You’re nuts, girl. And you’re never gonna get enough money.”

Davida sunk into the bus seat and shut her weary eyes. Ten more minutes and she'd be at the A&P.

“Thank God,” Bell said, when Davida arrived to relieve her at aisle seventeen. “I haven’t had a break in four hours.”

Next in line stood a man in a bright-blue jogging suit. The girls made the cash register transfer and he said, “Is this gonna take long? I’ve got tennis at four.”

Davida forced a smile. “Just a moment, sir.”

A half-hour later, Renee opened up next to her. “Hey girl, you still thinking about moving?”

“Yeah,” Davida said.

“Whose gonna watch Bobbie-Rae when you’re working?”

“Me and Rolanda are gonna share the cost of a sitter.”

“Damn. You’re crazy.”

Davida’s customer needed to sign the credit card receipt, but the pen had gone missing. “Hon,” Davida said to Renee, “you got an extra pen?”

“What did I tell you about those pens? This is the last time, I ain’t no factory.”

Davida smiled as she handed it to the customer. “Thanks for shopping at A&P.”

Things soon went quiet amongst the register girls and to pass the time, Davida often imagined that one of the young men coming through the line would ask her out or that she was one of the ladies jabbering to a decorator on a cell phone.

“Hi,” Davida said to a guy with a fancy college crest on the pocket of his Polo shirt.

He flipped through his wallet, found his card, and handed it to her.

She swiped the card and gave it back. “Nice day, huh?”

His cell phone rang and Davida caught the look of relief as he pulled the unit from his back pocket. “Hello,” he said into the phone. “I’m at the store.” He gave Davida a twenty, talking loudly as she bagged the groceries. She handed him the change as he finished the call.

“Thank you for shopping at A&P,” she said with a sweet smile she immediately regretted.

The young man took the money without looking and walked away; but he returned a few moments later. “Hey, I gave you a fifty. You shorted me thirty bucks.”

Davida looked askance. “I’m sorry, but it was a twenty. You were on the phone, maybe you’re mistaken.”

The college kid stared at Tom, the bagger, who was restocking the plastic bags. “You saw what I gave her, didn’t you?”

Tom hunched his shoulders and his pale lips curved downward.

Davida pushed the supervisor button and her aisle number turned red. Several people in line shifted to other lanes. When Charlie, the register supervisor, arrived, the college boy told his story.

Charlie wiped sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his polyester shirt. He arched eyebrows toward the accused.

Davida tapped her long black fingers on the register. “It was a twenty. I put in on the shelf, just like I always do. He was talking on the cell phone, he wasn’t even watching what he was doing.”

“So what if I was multi-tasking? I know what I gave you.”

The other girls at the adjacent registers snickered. Raymond, one of the other baggers, started rapping, “He’s a multi-tasker. He’s gone and trashed her. Whose got the cash here? Is she gonna last here?”

When supervisor Charlie shot a sharp glance at Raymond, he turned away. Charlie said to the customer, “Let's take a look in the register. We don’t get a lot of fifties coming through.”

“There’s four in there,” Davida said confidently. “The same ones I brought in at the top of the shift.”

Charlie quickly verified Davida's statement. He scratched his head and flecks of dandruff sprinkled his red vest. “I’m awfully sorry, sir, but these fifties are in sequential order. Are you sure?”

“She must have pocketed the bill. I’m telling you I gave her a fifty.”

"Hmm," Charlie said, now rubbing his narrow chin. “If you file a complaint, we can check the security video that covers these registers. It only takes a few days.”

“Fuck that,” he said. “She took my money. I want her arrested.”

Tom, the bagger, stepped in between the college kid and Davida. He said with a slight stammer, “That’s no way t-to be talking.”

The noise around aisle seventeen instantly hushed. “Let’s go to my office,” Charlie said, quickly escorting the disgruntled customer from the registers.

Millie, one of the supervisors, said to Davida, “Why don’t you go on break?”

When Davida returned to the registers, girls offered sympathetic smiles. Millie paraded up and down the checkout area, holding her clipboard tightly. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“I’ll get you a bagger as soon as one comes in.”

About a half-hour later, Jermaine joined Davida at register six. “Hey, D, how’s it hanging?”

“You’re all they got? -- A&P card, please.”

“I’m the best,” he said, fidgeting with the chunky gold medallion around his neck. “So I missed the excitement?”

“Oh, it was a barrel of fun.”

Several customers came through, but once the line cleared, Jermaine said, “Word's out, Willie’s coming home.”

The name jolted Davida. “You’d know better than me.”

“I got a message for him.”

“I ain’t planning on seeing Willie, so don’t be telling me nothing."

A customer unloaded a cart at the register. Jermaine whispered, “Mr. C wants to talk to him right away.”

Davida dropped the can of peas she was scanning. “Sorry,” she said to the lady in line. “Do you want me to get another?”

“Jermaine,” she said out the side of her mouth. “I got nothing to do with Willie. And you tell Mr. C not to bother my little brother or my Granny, you hear?”


About an hour after Davida had left for work, Reverend Winston knocked on apartment 7 D of the King Projects. He was disconnecting headphones to his Walkman when Granny Jack answered the door. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, “but another church window got broken last night. I had to wait for the glass company.”

“It’s all right, Reverend, she’s not here anyway.”

He frowned. “But I thought --”

“Yes, I know, come in and have some pie.” Granny Jack reeled him into the kitchen and sat him down before he could object. A fresh cup of coffee followed, then a slice of that pecan pie with a dollop of Redi-whip. She refilled her cup and joined him. “Davida got called into work," she said. "I tried to catch you at the church, but there was no answer.”

“I guess God’s work requires that I get a cell phone now.”

They shared smiles. “How’s the pie?”

Reverend Winston wiped crumbs from his lips. “With the quality of cooking that goes on in this house, I’m surprised that girl could even think of leaving.”

“You eat up, and there’s more if you want it.”

“So, she still intends to go?”

“Suitcase is packed.”

“Hmm,” he said.

“She’s so mad at Willie, she’s got nothing good to say about the man. To be honest, Reverend, I think she’s scared.”

“How old was she when Willie went to jail?”

“The first time she was in kindergarten. Poor girl, so excited when her daddy come home, she was eleven then. He bought her a stuffed lion with some of that prison wage. She called it Kimba, you couldn’t separate her from it. And then, well, you know, it was only a few months before more trouble."

Reverend Winston took hold of Granny Jack’s beefy hand. “She's gone through a lot. We can’t be too hard. She’s doing this to protect Bobbie-Rae, to make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”

“Reverend,” Granny Jack said, “she don’t come much on Sundays anymore, but I know she appreciates all you’ve done. She might still listen to you.”

Granny Jack had turned to Reverend Winston of the First Avenue Baptist Church, eight years ago, after Davida’s mother was killed. He was a beacon of light in a neighborhood that had turned into a war zone, but that hadn’t stopped her from confronting him after a Sunday Service. “What kind of god takes the mother away of children that don’t have a father? She gave those kids everything even though she had nothing. What kind of god lets that be? You tell me, Reverend, what kind?”

“From pain will come goodness,” Reverend Winston had claimed. “We walk by faith, not sight.”

“That child walks with blisters,” Granny Jack retorted, “and if we don’t do something soon, that girl’s gonna be hobbled the rest of her life.”

Reverend Winston closed the Bible and loosened his collar. “Take me to her.”

In those eight years, the family and the Reverend grew close and now Granny Jack bustled about in the kitchen, while he finished what was left on his plate. “More pie?”

“No, please, I’m refereeing the youth club’s basketball game this evening. I’ll have to take a rain check.”

“Will you talk to her?”

“She’s a big girl now, I’m not sure it’ll do any good.”

“Tell her what you've done for Willie.”

“None of that's definite.”

Granny Jack started crying. “What if he hasn't changed?"

"He'll still need our love and support."

Granny Jack closed her eyes. “I hope that's all he'll need."


After Davida's A&P shift, she stood with a handful of other African Americans, waiting for the bus along Route One. The dark-velvet sky was so different from the bright haze that hung over the Biltmore sky; as if stars only shined here in Riverside. On the bus ride home, Davida sat by a cold window with the bitter after-taste of that conversation with Jermaine in her mouth. He was a two-bit dealer who used the A&P as a place to distribute to the Riverside kids. Weed, Goop, and ‘E’ were his mainstays. Everyone at the A&P knew what Jermaine was up to—everyone except management. What did Mr. C, one of Biltmore’s drug kingpins, want with her father? Whatever it was, it just confirmed what she already knew: Willie was in deep, and there was no way he was getting out, not now, not ever. But what if she couldn’t handle Bobbie-Rae on her own? What if Rolanda started dating a jerk?

When she got home, Granny Jack was watching a rerun of the ‘Fresh Prince.’ A bowl of caramel popcorn was squarely planted in her lap.

“We’re leaving Saturday,” Davida said. “My mind’s made up.”

“But –“

“Hear me out, Granny Jack. You shouldn’t let him stay. It’s only gonna bring bad people here. I know he’s your son, but you’ve got to face the facts.”

Tears streamed down Granny Jack’s cheeks stuffed with caramel corn.

Davida held her clammy hand. “Don’t be upset, please.”

Granny Jack tried to stop the tears.

“Granny, please. We won’t be far.”

Granny Jack shut her eyes and slowed her breathing with a technique she saw on Oprah. Finally she said, “I want to tell you a story about someone I know.”

“Not another spiritual fable.”

“Girl,” Granny Jack said, her eyebrows lifted.

“All right, but I’m telling you, this won't change my mind.”

“Let me tell my story.”

Davida reached into the bowl while Granny Jack dabbed her puffy face with a Kleenex.

“I knowed this woman who got pregnant at fourteen," Granny Jack said. "She was forced to have that child all by herself, but she was strong-willed and determined. It didn’t matter that her family and the father had turned their back. Now a fourteen-year-old girl with a baby has got to do things she wouldn’t ordinarily do. She wasn’t proud of that, but she got that baby what it needed, and she hoped in the Lord’s eyes, she’d be forgiven.”

Davida had heard the story before, but she’d already broken the chain of teenage pregnancy in the Jackson household. “Granny, don’t worry, I’m not gonna get pregnant.”

“I’m just saying that it’s hard out there on your own. You never know what’s coming around the bend.”

“I understand that, but –“

Granny Jack sniffled. “Do me one favor, child. You can do that for me, can't you, Honeypie?”

“What?”

“Before you run off, go see the Reverend.”


The First Avenue Baptist Church spent most of its daylight hours within the shadows of the Highway 59 overpass, and each rush-hour morning, that on-ramp clogged like a backed-up toilet. The Jackson apartment was only five-minutes away by foot, and on the afternoon Davida paid the Reverend a visit, the front door was locked, a security measure forced upon the church after the spate of window smashings. A handwritten note tacked to the door read: Youth League Basketball 11-1 @ Douglas Park.

Davida found Reverend Winston playing with the high schoolers. She watched him do a reasonable job keeping up until an opposing player blew by to win the game.

Davida and an out-of-breath Reverend, walked back to the church. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said, wiping his brow.

“It was worth it just to see your butt kicked on the court.”

“I don’t do too bad for a guy in his forties.”

“No, you don’t,” she admitted.

Once inside the church, he got a Diet Coke for her and a seltzer for himself. He threw a pair of striped sweat pants over his gym shorts and put on a Chicago Bulls sweatshirt. They sat in the reception room furnished by the graces of the Riverside Salvation Army Store.

“Your grandmother’s worried about you and Bobbie-Rae.”

“She should be more worried about the trouble heading her way.”

“Is that any way to talk about your father?”

“When it’s the truth, yeah.”

Reverend Winston took a deep breath. “In the Book of Psalms it says that mercy and truth are met together. How will you know the truth if you don’t give him a chance?”

“All I know is that Willie went to jail for armed robbery when I was five. And when he got out, it took only seventy-two days to get busted again. That’s enough truth for me.”

“Hmm,” Reverend Winston said, his fingers wrapped around his cleft chin. “Do we ever really know the truth?”

Davida pushed her nose upward. “You know I got time for you, Reverend, but this shit today, it ain’t going nowhere.”

His marble eyes stayed with her. “You know I visit Kingston Penitentiary every month. Willie never fails to ask about you and Bobbie-Rae. He's got pictures of you in his cell.”

“If he cared that much about us, he would have stayed out of trouble.”

“You're still upset.”

“No shit.”

“I’m sorry for that pain and I’m sure Willie is too.”

Davida stood and put hands on her narrow hips. “Reverend, I know you mean good, but Willie is a loser and he’s got bad friends. If you really care about my grandmother, you’ll tell her not to let that man in her house.” She walked toward the hallway.

Reverend Winston remained seated and kept talking as if Davida hadn’t gotten up. “How dreadful the knowledge of truth can be when there’s no help in it.”

She turned around and her shadow fell upon a statue of Jesus. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come to the prison this afternoon. Talk to him.”

“No way, Reverend. I don’t care what he says.”

She headed for the front door and Reverend Winston hurried after her. "Your father only wanted the best for you."

"Yeah, right."

"The man had no education, no skills; all he knew was the street."

"So?"

"He could use a break."

"And how about Bobbie-Rae? He could use a father."

"I know," he whispered. Then the Reverend's eyes widened. "He's studying for the GED, if he passes, I might be able to get him a job at Tomlinson Motors. Your support could make all the difference. This time it can turn out different."

Davida looked unfazed by the Reverend's declaration. "It's not my problem."


Davida walked quickly from the Church, as if it was on fire. Underneath the highway, she felt the weight of all that concrete. The traffic moved swiftly overhead and those cars might as well have been Lear jets. Why did Willie need her support? How dare he expect anything from her. And yet, hadn't she dreamt that one day the family would be reunited? Didn’t she want another chance?

Davida headed for Stonewall Elementary on an impulse; school was just getting out. Once Bobbie-Rae was told of the move, there would be no turning back. Now was as a good a time as any.

When Bobbie-Rae spotted his sister, he ran to her, and threw his skinny arms around her neck. They went for ice cream. He slurped a black and white cone with rainbow sprinkles. She wiped a smudge from his lip. “I don’t wanna leave,” he said after Davida broke the news.

“We have to.”

“Can’t Granny Jack come with us?”

“I wish she could, but that’s not possible.”

“I ain’t going then.”

“Oh, Bobbie-Rae, it’ll be fun, you’ll get your own room.”

“All to myself?”

“That’s right, and you’ll get to take a bus to school.”

“A real one?”

“Yes.”

Ice cream melted down the side of his cone and dribbled onto his pants. She handed him several napkins. “Wrap the cone, before it gets worse.”

He wiped his chocolate covered hands on his pants before taking the napkins.

She sighed. “Look what you’ve done.”

He smiled with lips outlined in ice cream. “I don’t want to go.”

“But we have to.”

They sat silently for awhile, eating. Then Bobbie-Rae asked, “Why’s Willie coming home?”

“He’s done serving his time.”

“You mean his punishment?”

“Yes.”

“Then he’s a good boy again, that’s what Granny Jack says when I’ve been bad.”

“That’s different.”

“No it’s not. Once I’m allowed out of my room, she always says, here’s that blessed child that God brought into this world.” Bobbie-Rae twisted his lip. “It means I’m good all over again.”

* * *

Davida dropped Bobbie-Rae home, then took the bus over to the A&P. She’d told her little brother he’d love it at Rolanda’s and he started to cry. How could she explain that adults don’t change? That it was impossible for a man like Willie to have a fresh start.

That night Davida had the six to eleven shift and Renee was on an adjacent register.

"At least you got a father," she said after Davida told her about Willie's upcoming release. "Mine's been dead as long as your momma's been."

"But mine's a shit."

"He's alive, honey. There's a chance he’ll make good."

"Not much."

"All I know, girl, if you and Bobbie-Rae go, the man’s got no chance.”

On the bus ride back to Riverside, Davida rested her forehead on the cool window. The drone of the engine vibrated through the pane making her drowsy. At one stop, a woman wearing a fast-food apron boarded. She carried a small girl in one arm like a sack of groceries. When they settled into a seat, the mother pulled a stuffed lion out of her pocket book. The little girl held it tightly, then fell asleep. The furry animal looked a bit like the one stored in Granny Jack’s hallway closet. Davida hadn’t thought of it in years. Kimba had gone everywhere with her, but eventually the fur wore away and she lost an eye. Granny Jack had offered to buy her a new one, but a one-eyed, balding stuffed animal was better than any replacement. Kimba got retired to that closet six years ago, the day after Davida’s last prison visit.

On the bus, Davida exchanged smiles with the mother and wondered if she’d taken the kid to work because she didn’t have a sitter. Would the little girl make school in the morning?

Davida got home just after midnight. Granny Jack was on the sofa watching TV, another bowl of caramel popcorn sat in her lap. Bobbie-Rae was asleep on the cot in the second bedroom. Davida hung up her coat in the hallway closet and caught a glimpse of the boxes on the top shelf filled with bits and pieces from her childhood. A feeling of longing overcame her, emptiness triggered by those dusty cardboard boxes. She reached upward to the shelf for the one containing Kimba.


The End

Will You Come Out Tonight: the companion song to Coming Home

Davida lives by the railroad tracks
Goes to work on a bus to the A&P
She dreams of a house and a Cadillac
And a honeymoon in Italy
But she’s at a register all day
And there’s no one in her life to say

Chorus
Will you come out Davida tonight
The moon's hanging low in a velvet sky
Will you come out Davida tonight
And take a ride
We can float on the wings of a butterfly
‘Cause there’s magic in the moonlight
Davida, will you come out tonight

She hopes to meet the right guy
On her weekend shift at the checkout stand
She talks with a smile to the men in line
Week after week the best she can
And on her break she holds back tears
This A&P girl just wants to hear

Bridge
Tom bags the groceries
But she never seems to look his way
He wishes he was someone else
Someone with the courage to say


©ATG 2005 Words and Music by Robert Steven Williams

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It was also Garageband Track of the Day twice and Track of the Week!

Coming Home appeared in the Tall Tales and Short Stories II anthology released October, 2004.

I also want to thank Tall Tales Press for being the first to publish one of my short stories -- I really appreciate it and urge you all to check them out.