Flash Fiction

I half-believed she’d back down up until the morning we drove to Hobby Airport.

The day we moved into our new house I noticed two things: the shingles looked less charming in the daylight, and I developed psychic abilities.

She was short on change but changing me, even as I swung on sight at men with money.

Before Mother belts herself and Baby Brother into the passenger seat, she straps in Cookie and whisper-warns that we be good all the way to Grandma’s.

Ted is portly, twenty-six, and uncomfortable in an old blue blazer, gold and blue striped tie and gray dress slacks.