Pastry chef by day, insomniac writer by night.
Find here: stories that creep up on you, poems to stumble over, and the weird words I hold them in.
Or, let me catch you at www.suzekay.com
Chapter 1 ... Chapter 18 ______________ I'm not ashamed to admit my first reaction to the headline was relief. Our contract had indeed included certain fail-safes -- Janie could have retracted her permission at any time, leaving me gagged forever. Even if Sheila was right, and I was just the last lucky reporter she'd been toying with, I found myself in an enviable position. Upon her death, I had every permission to proceed with her story in whatever way I saw fit. I was 100% certain that nothing she'd told me could be tripped up by a publishing house's rigorous fact-checking. At most, I'd have to quote her directly.
By Suze Kay2 years ago in Chapters
Chapter 1 ... Chapter 17 ______________ Sheila took another bite of Janie's omelet. "You got your recorder thing handy? You might want to get this, too," she said. "Will probably be good for your book, or article, or whatever she's got you chasing this time."
Chapter 1 ... Chapter 16 ______________ In the Somerset Diner the next morning, I nursed a hangover and tried not to throw up in my coffee as I reread my email and wished for a button to undo the last twelve hours of my life. Why the fuck had I sent it? I hadn't been drunk like that for years. At least a decade. It was no excuse.
Chapter 1... Chapter 15 ______________ Back at my desk with a bottle of wine, I listened to the day's conversation and transcribed it. To my chagrin, Janie was right. I'd lost it. I could hear it in the tone of my voice, pitching up and pinching in judgment with each successive question.
Chapter 1 ... Chapter 14 ______________ "I can see you're reconsidering our friendship," she said with another sad smile.
Chapter 1 ... Chapter 13 ______________ "What were the signs at Hollow Hill Farm?" I asked her, leaning across the table. My voice had dropped to a murmur. She matched it.
Chapter 1 ... Chapter 12 ______________ After our confrontation in the park, it was like a storm had broken between us. Janie fielded my questions with grace, and I learned to read her mood and rein myself in. I noticed that she didn't like questions about Antonio when we ate in the Diner. She was freer when we walked outside, or on the rare occasions when the Diner was nearly empty and Sheila was our server.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 ________ Janie fiddled with her coffee cup, worrying its cardboard sleeve.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 ________ A cloud crossed the sun and Janie shivered. She looked over her shoulder in the direction of the diner.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 ________ The weather turned for the better overnight, replacing bitter gray skies with sunshine and a light, warm breeze. Janie met me outside the Somerset Diner, two to-go cups in hand.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 ________ That night, I dug deeper into the history of Second Story, the small empire of thrift stores the Robichauds ran.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 ________ As we ate, I thought that Eleanor's advice was right. Letting Janie lead was productive, even if it chafed. I'd suspected from the start that Janie was different from the Women Who Stayed. I now felt she was different from anyone else I'd ever spoken with, let alone interviewed. She had more to say, and she wouldn't be bullied into it.
