Keara K. Steele

“It’s 82 degrees in here, John,” Marissa yells into her phone, “I have a four-year-old and a seven-month-old baby…we can’t live like this!”   Marissa paces back and forth in her living room with her phone pressed between her ear and shoulder while simultaneously rocking her baby.    “If the air doesn’t get fixed today, I’m calling Channel 5,” Marissa snaps back before abruptly ending the call.    She tosses her phone aimlessly. Emmy, her infant, fusses endlessly despite being rocked by her mother. Jake, the four-year-old, bangs on his toy drum set with all his might.  Clash. Clash. Clash.  The wooden sticks collide with the symbols.  Waaaah .  Waaaaah .  The baby wails at her highest decibel. Sweat beads lift from Marissa’s pores and glaze her skin. She places the baby on her hip, bouncing Emmy with one hand while fanning herself with the other.    “Emmy, please,” Marissa pleads for the baby to stop crying. Jake jumps up and la...

  I like to make a cup of tea every morning.   The kettle is heating up on the stove. We’ll just wait until we hear it whistle.  I stand staring out of the picture sque window in my living room. My husband, James, is rolling the trash bin to the curb. Immediately across the street is Misty Potters’ house. She’s standing in her window staring back at me. Or is it James that her eyes rest on? She usually makes a point to meet James for some sort of friendly banter when he’s out front, but not today. She avoids me, however. It’s the most peculiar thing. James lingers a little longer at the curb. Misty was typically on time for their curbside meetings. Not today. He walks back up the long driveway slowly, trying his best to find subtle ways to look back at the house across the street. I refocus my attention to Misty standing in her window. I am certain that she is staring back at me now. James takes a pause at the steps leading to the front door. He looks back one last time. ...