I imagined Jake going out to buy groceries and running into an old friend. They’d go to a bar, play some pool, then go to another bar to catch a band. Mom would be all alone, worried and then distraught. She’d call me in a panic at three in the morning, my number on her speed dial. I would find reassuring words and would be speaking to her still when a taxi pulled up in front of her house and I would hear Jake practically fall through the front door.

From “Under the Apple Tree” by Margaret Watson in Grain, Winter 2025   (Paper or e-copy can be ordered from GrainMagazine.ca.)