The sisters were unused to having visitors, their farm long cut off from the rest of the world by a wide swath of asphalt. Steaming tea swirled in their grandmother’s paper thin wedding China, sending up whiffs of orange and cloves. The Visitor’s lack of digits beyond his wrists made holding the prized heirlooms a precarious undertaking so the sisters took turns offering him sips in silver teaspoons, barely larger than a thimble. Finding primitive pleasure in doing so each sister, unbeknownst to the other, slipped one hand under the Irish lace tablecloth and placed it on the Visitor’s thigh.
Jayne Martin is a 2017 Pushcart nominee, 2016 winner of Vestal Review’s VERA award, and a 2018 Best Small Fictions nominee. Work in Literary Orphans, Spelk, Crack the Spine, Midwestern Gothic, formercactus, MoonPark Review, Blink-Ink, Blue Fifth Review, Cabinet of Heed, Bending Genres, Hippocampus and Connotation Press, and others. On Twitter @Jayne_Martin.