OTHER PEOPLE'S STORIES
VOLUME TWO
This isn't a book about big heroes or perfect endings.
It's about people - flawed, funny, fumbling people and the tiny
moments that shape them and their world.
Written by: Katharine Tonti
Published by: Bookbaby.com
Page Count: 97
Publication Date: February 14, 2025
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Where to Buy:
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Coupon not available for kindle version
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📦 Amazon.com – No coupon available.
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Table of Contents
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Everything is A OKaye
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✦ SIGNED, SEALED, DELIVERED
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One stolen mailbox. A hundred unread confessions.
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He was laid off from the post office, but he kept one thing: a master key. Years later, a chance encounter with an abandoned mailbox reveals something unexpected – more than a hundred letters that were never meant to be delivered. No addresses. Just names. Apologies. Confessions. Love. And now, the man who used to collect the mail is the only one left to decide what to do with it. For fans of second chances, handwritten regrets, and stories that sneak up on your heart.
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EXCERPT:
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I used to work for the post office.
I drove around collecting mail from those blue metal boxes that sat on the corner of almost every street in town. That’s what it was like back then. If you wanted to wish somebody a happy birthday, or tell them “Sorry you’re sick,” you had to buy a card, write their address on the envelope, put a stamp on it, then walk to the end of the street and put the letter in the box. It could take a week or more for your mail to get to wherever it was supposed to go.
Those were the days, huh?
Anyway, some higher-up in management decided to get rid of all those mailboxes because no one used them anymore. Not for sending letters, anyway. And if they didn’t need the boxes, they sure didn’t need me driving around town because there was nothing to collect. So, they laid me off. Can you imagine being laid off from the post office? Like they couldn’t have assigned me to some other job. Hell, I would’ve loved working at the front desk. I’d get a real kick out of making people step out of line to fill out forms for their packages and registered mail.
The thing that really pissed me off is that they gave me my layoff notice while I was still on my route. They didn’t even wait for me to get back to the distribution center. I’m filling up a mail pouch on the corner of Hamlen Avenue and East Boulevard, and the next thing I know, my supervisor shows up out of nowhere, hands me a piece of paper, grabs the mailbag, jumps back into his truck, and drives away.
So, I stole the mailbox.
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✦ LIFE’S A BOWL OF CHERRIES
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The heart remembers, even when no one else does.
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Meet Eleanor: 86 years old, sharp as ever, and stuck in a nursing home because she forgot to turn off the stove – once. Her days are filled with canned fruit cocktail, Bingo, and memories no one seems to care about. But Eleanor remembers everything, and she has one last thing to say. A story about aging, agency, and the small indignities we pretend don’t matter.
EXCERPT:
My name is Eleanor. I’m eighty-six years old, and I’ve been in this nursing home for five years, seven months, and twelve days.
My son put me here because he and his wife don’t know what to do with me anymore, and they won’t let me live alone. Just because I forgot to turn off the stove one time. No one got hurt. There wasn’t even a fire. I just lost a coffee pot, and anyway, the thing was old. But that’s what happens when you give your children power of attorney. The power goes to their heads, and they take over. Now they’re the boss of you.
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✦ DAYDREAM BELIEVER
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Where do your dreams go when you're not ready to reclaim them?
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Each summer night, the children gather on the porch of a slate gray house to whisper their secrets to the old man who sends their dreams to the stars in clouds of pipe smoke. A lyrical story about memory, mystery, and the way childhood magic lingers long after the lights go out.
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EXCERPT:
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They begin to shout. They are impatient, and quarrels erupt as they wait for the man they call Grandpa Watson to unlock the tattered screen door of that slate gray house, and make his way to the faded Adirondack chair that rests in the center of the time-worn veranda. It is where he sits to preside over each night’s sacred ritual.
They don’t notice his slow gait, made even slower by his protruding stomach that hangs so low, his suspenders long ago admitted defeat in the game of tug of war they played with his jeans. His sandals nearly explode as they fight to contain the expanse of his swollen, bulbous feet. Freckles peak out from under the sleeves of his denim work shirt. They are the color of stale cornflakes. Only his eyes retain their luster, reflecting light like newly polished sapphires.
Exactly who is Grandpa Watson? The children don’t know. They never ask.
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✦ FINAL COUNTDOWN
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So much can happen in five seconds — especially inside your own head.
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From preschool jitters to wedding-day doubts, kitchen-sink purchases to life’s final breath, Final Countdown is a whirlwind of inner monologues over life’s tipping points. Witty, poignant, and disarmingly honest, this story reminds us that behind every big moment are little questions that make us gloriously, hilariously, human.
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EXCERPT:
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Five seconds before Jaxon starts his first day of preschool, he wonders:
“Where do worms go after it rains? Why do I have to wear pants every day? Why can’t I say ‘damn it’ when Papa and Nana visit? Is being a tooth fairy a real job? Does my dog dream about Legos?”
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Five seconds before Claudia is scheduled to walk up the aisle, she wonders:
“Will my best friend show up for this wedding? Is my mother right about the menu? Why does my soon-to-be husband still text his ex-girlfriend? When did I agree to move to Denver? Where’s the door?”
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✦ WHEN ROBIN COMES BOBBIN’ ALONG
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Some wounds never speak. Some ghosts never leave.
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Told in three haunting acts, this is the story of Lisa – a woman unraveling beneath the weight of childhood trauma, guilt, and rage. From a second-grade assignment she never asked for, to a court-ordered therapy session she barely survives, When Robin Comes Bobbin’ Along is a raw, riveting meditation on what we carry, and what happens when it finally demands to be felt.
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EXCERPT:
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Lisa stares at the rug beneath her feet. It is the color of grass. Fresh spring grass. She notices the edge is trimmed in a pattern that looks like flowers. Tulips, to be exact. They are stitched together, one after another, forming a square that has no beginning and no end. Her heart races, her vision blurs, and now the flowers morph into faces — ghosts from her past who continue to haunt her. They form a parade, a parade that marches in perpetuity around the green square of carpeting that lies under her chair. They march, march, march, march, march as she watches them from her place on the sidelines. The place where she has stood for as long as she can remember.
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It occurs to her that perhaps she should say something to the stranger sitting across from her, the man who wants to know why she throws flowerpots at gardeners and is afraid of blind people.
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But the ghosts threaten her. They will choke her if she tells their secrets. And if she tries to leave them, they will blind her with their fury.
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So, she says nothing. Nothing at all.
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✦ THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES
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Some memories linger forever.
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Over coffee and a dinner he doesn’t want, a man endures the world’s worst client while drifting through the wreckage of a love he never quite got over. As the past resurfaces in bite-sized flashbacks, he debates whether to reach out or finally let go. Thanks for the Memories is a wry, wistful meditation on connection, loss, and the ghosts that haunt us.
EXCERPT:
He stirs his coffee slowly, as if he is concocting a potion. He hopes the steady, measured pace of his spoon circling the cup will stop him from reaching across the table and choking his client who is wearing a Save the Children tie, that popular men’s fashion accessory from the last millennium. This one is adorned with a child’s drawing of tiny pizza slices topped with burnt pepperoni. It’s knotted so tightly around the man’s neck; that one deft pull and the strangulation would be complete.
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✦ FOOTLOOSE
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Every step leaves a mark — until it doesn’t.
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Welcome to Stacy Stalinger’s Shoe Museum, where stilettos, sneakers and suede boots chronicle a woman’s journey through love, loss, and self-discovery. Told as a guided tour with a surprise epilogue, Footloose is a soulful journey through one woman’s past — and her barefoot leap into what comes next.
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EXCERPT:
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Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome!
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You are now entering the section of the museum dedicated to the meticulously curated collection of Stacey Stallinger’s spectacular shoes. From slippers to sandals, wedges to Wellingtons, on display are more than 150 pairs of one-of-a-kind footwear in sizes 6½ to 8½. The variations in size are due entirely to the whims of manufacturers from countries across the globe who sell their products online, thereby keeping America’s wheels of commerce spinning through their “free returns” policies. But I digress.
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While we do not have time on this tour to discuss each individual pair in the collection (you can explore them in detail later by downloading the app) this morning’s tour will highlight one pair from each of the five exhibits. So please follow along as we enter the section we call “Heels of Fortune.”
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✦ BURNING DOWN THE HOUSE
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It’s not always the things we lose that leave a mark.
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When a future daughter-in-law sits in the wrong chair, a mother’s quiet ritual begins to unravel. What starts as a battle of boundaries turns into a chilling meditation on power, possession, and the one thing no one saw coming. Burning Down the House is a slow, smoldering descent into domestic warfare — fought one chair, one cigarette, and one unnervingly polite smile at a time.
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EXCERPT:
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That night, I sat in that half-broken, uncomfortable chair and smoked not one, but two cigarettes. The peace that came so easily to me in those moments, when my mind drifted aimlessly in search of nothing at all, was lost. Instead, I started to think about where I could hide this furniture — and more importantly, the chair. My mind raced like an out-of-control roller coaster. My first thought was that as long as my son had a key to our house, there was no safe place to hide the set: not the attic, not the basement, not the cedar closet, not the garage — nowhere. I considered putting the table and chairs in one of those storage units, but then I’d have to explain to my husband why our dinette set was gone, and he’d think I’d lost my mind. Then it occurred to me — if she saw the set was missing, she would know that I knew what she knew. This had become a game, and the stakes had gotten higher.
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✦ EVERYTHING IS A OKAYE
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Some stories we relive. Others, we re-write. But the ones we invent? Those never let us go.
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Abandoned as a teenager, displaced by war, and forever haunted by the woman he couldn’t keep, Max has spent a lifetime rewriting the script of his past. Everything Is A-OKaye traces one man’s journey from exile to obsession, through a marriage of convenience, fatherhood steeped in silence, and a dreamworld built on love lost.
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EXCERPT:
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Max doesn’t deny that Julie has been a good wife. If he were honest, he’d admit she’s been a great wife. He knows he doesn’t deserve her given how he’s treated her for the past fifty years. He’s never hit her, never abused her, but he intentionally and deliberately finds a way to hurt her every day of their marriage. For Julie, it is as the saying goes, “Death by a thousand cuts.”
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She’s never told anyone that since the day they got married, Max has never uttered her first name. Instead, he calls her “the wife.” When he says it though, it sounds like he’s saying, “the knife.” When Julie brought this to his attention, he shrugged it off. He said he calls her “the wife” because that’s what she is. Besides, there must be a hundred thousand women named Julie walking this earth right now, so instead of being hurt, she should be grateful. In fact, she should feel lucky. As for his mispronunciation, if she hadn’t noticed he still has an accent. There are plenty of words he continues to mispronounce, even though he’s lived in this country for decades.
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She never mentions it again.
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Julie knows he doesn’t love her, but after all this time, she still loves him. Always has. Always will.
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Max knows he torments Julie, but he can’t stop punishing her for not being Kaye. Never could. Never will.
They got on with their lives, just as his grandmother had said they must: Max, masquerading as a devoted husband and provider, and Julie giving the performance of a lifetime, scripting award-winning scenarios of their marriage for an audience of none.
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✦ OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS
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Some adventures never end. They just change passengers.
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A surprise road trip to Wyoming becomes the start of a lifelong family legend — one filled with gobbling turkeys, curious moose, Flintstone fantasies, and a thousand tiny moments that stitch a family together. Over the River and Through the Woods is a tender, funny and deeply moving celebration of memory, loss, and the legacies we leave behind.
EXCERPT:
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The suspense is driving us mad. My brother, Renzo, and I bombard our parents with questions about where we’re going on vacation, but they tease us mercilessly. The cryptic answers to our barrage of queries are doled out slowly and carefully. We are allowed to ask three questions a day for the week prior to our departure, but neither of us has had any success guessing the destination.
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“Is it warm there?” I ask.
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“Depends… Sometimes it snows, even in summer.”
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“Is it the North Pole?” My brother is six years old and is still a faithful devotee of good St. Nick. I am eight and consider myself an agnostic.
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“No, it’s not the North Pole. But it is far away.” It’s my turn again. “Can I wear my moccasins there?”
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“May I wear my moccasins there.”
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“May I wear my moccasins there?”
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“Yes, Princess, you may,” my mother answers. I have been obsessed with Princess Tiger Lily since I saw the movie Peter Pan, and I wear my moccasins and a beaded necklace whenever I’m allowed.
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Our questioning is as relentless as their determination to surprise us. All we know is that it’s a long drive from where we live. We go as far as to sneak into the garage and rummage through the glove compartment of the family car to see if our parents might have stored maps or a Triptik from Triple A. Nothing. Not a clue.
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✦ HOLD 'EM, FOLD 'EM, WALK AWAY, RUN
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Every man has a tell. Every love has a limit. Every gamble has a price.
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Eddie’s got a good thing going: poker nights with the guys, a part-time gig, and MaryJane, his wife of forty years – his rock, his ace in the hole. But when a quiet stranger enters his world, the man who swore he’d never bet on anything that matters faces the one hand he can’t bluff his way out of. A sharp, heartbreaking story about the slow unraveling of a man who knows where the line is — and crosses it anyway.
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EXCERPT:
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There are three things everyone knows about Eddie: (1) He spent half a season playing shortstop for the Toledo Mud Hens, (2) he gambles and cheats at poker, and (3) he married his high school sweetheart, MaryJane.
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Eddie can regale you for hours with stories about his short-lived baseball career, and will categorically deny he counts cards, but he’ll never let you forget he’s a married man. You have to give it up for a guy who starts almost every sentence with, “My wife, MaryJane, said…” or “My wife, MaryJane, thinks…”
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His poker buddies — Stan, Vince, and Marty — would just as soon chew their own flesh until they hit bone than hear one more sentence that starts with “My wife, MaryJane…” First, they all know her name. It’s redundant to keep saying it. It’s as redundant as The Department of Redundancy Department.
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Second, all three are a little jealous of Eddie’s relationship with his wife. Stan’s been divorced for four years, Vince for nine, and Marty is a widower, so to listen to Eddie yammer on and on about his wife is, as Stan says, “a colossal pain in the ass.” But they keep quiet because they know MaryJane, and she’s a good woman. She’s put up with Eddie for almost 40 years, so as far as they’re concerned, she’s a living saint. And, if truth be told, all three wish they had someone like her in their lives.
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✦ ALL THAT AND A BAG OF CHIPS
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It’s not just a purse. It’s a survival strategy.
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She carries everything — lipstick, notebooks, pepper spray, aspirin, glasses, and a lifetime supply of “just in case.” He carries... nothing. A fast, funny, and spot-on showdown between the over-prepared and the under-packed, All That and a Bag of Chips is a witty love letter to every woman who’s ever heard, “Babe, can you carry this for me — just this once?”
EXCERPT:
“This is the fourth purse I’ve bought this year.”
“What’s wrong with the other three?”
“Nothing fits in those either.”
“You bought four purses that are the same size?”
“My stuff doesn’t fit in any of them.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“You have four purses, and you don’t like any of them because none of them are big enough?”
“Actually, I have a dozen purses, but basically that’s correct.”
“Why don’t you get rid of some of the stuff that’s in there?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I need everything in here.”
“I bet you don’t.”
“I bet I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“In fact, I. Do.”
“Like what?”
“What do you mean?”
“What can’t you get rid of?”
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✦ FOREVER AND EVER, AMEN
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Some goodbyes are too painful to speak and too powerful to forget.
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In 1941, a mother weeps as city workers cut down her orange tree. But it’s not just the loss of fruit that brings her to her knees. Decades earlier, her husband left a letter beneath the floorboards of a tenement room, along with three ten-dollar bills and a bag of oranges — his final act of love before vanishing forever. A tender, haunting meditation on poverty, sacrifice, and the promises we keep even when we can’t stay.
EXCERPT:
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DECEMBER 10, 1941
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My mother is inconsolable.
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Two city workers are cutting down the orange tree she planted from seedlings nearly twenty years ago. It is diseased and no longer produces fruit. Its leaves are speckled with black mold and splintered branches litter the small yard and crooked walkway. I tell her we can plant another one, but she is not listening. Without a word, she steps away from the window, closes the curtain, walks into her bedroom, and shuts the door.
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I don’t know why something as trivial as a dead orange tree has caused her to be this upset. My brother is stationed at Pearl Harbor. We don’t know if he’s dead or alive. My mother doesn’t flinch over the possibility he may not return home, yet she’s in tears over a dead orange tree.
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I knock on her bedroom door.
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“Momma -?”
“Not now,” she says softly, “not now.”
“Momma, please tell me – “
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✦ SISTER/SISTER – PART ONE
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WWJD: Some bonds are forged in blood. Others, only in longing.
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Maggie has spent her life loving her older sister Janine, shadowing her childhood, sending gifts, and leaving voicemails she knows won’t be returned. But after decades of silence, she’s finally asking the hardest question of all. Sister/Sister: Part One – WWJD is a tender, aching portrait of sisterhood, identity, and the courage it takes to let go of a love that never comes back.
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EXCERPT:
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I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. This isn’t about what Jesus would do. No, this WWJD is about my sister, Janine.
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Janine is six years older than me, and I have adored her for as long as I can remember. My mother told me that anyone who was lucky enough to have a sister had a built-in best friend for the rest of their lives. Not only did I believe her, but I was also determined to make it a reality.
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My father would always tell people that when I was six or seven months old, I’d follow my sister around the house by crawling after her like a caterpillar. When I finally learned to walk, I toddled after her like a baby duck, and when I could get around on my own, I’d chase after her like a puppy. My dad had this thing about comparing me to baby animals. He thought it was adorable.
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But Janine didn’t think it was adorable. She’d play with me for a little while, and then tell me to go away because she had “big girl” things to do. I’d start to cry. I’d sob so hard my body shook like I was having a seizure. The only way my parents could console me was by telling me Janine would play with me only if I stopped crying. That Janine only wanted to play with good girls who didn’t cry, or good girls who ate all their peas, or took their naps, or whatever it was they wanted me to do. If Janine wanted it, I did it because I would do anything for her, even at the age of two.
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✦ SISTER/SISTER – PART TWO
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MOTHER KNOWS BEST: One love. Two truths. No easy answers.
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What do you do when the person who loves you most is also the one you need space from in order to survive? Sister/Sister: Part Two – Mother Knows Best is a poignant mirror to Maggie’s story. It’s about the kind of sisterly love that hurts and heals, hollows and protects — because sometimes letting go is the only way to hold on.
EXCERPT:
Contrary to what you’ve just read, I’m not the ogre my sister, Maggie, makes me out to be.
I spent the first six years of my life as an only child, and I have to tell you, I loved it. I absolutely loved it. Ask anyone who’s the oldest sibling in their family, and if they can remember a time when it was just them and their parents, they’ll tell you being a singleton is like winning a kid’s version of the Mega Millions lottery.
You are the center of their universe. You get everything you want, and you get away with just about anything because you’re the one and only. The sun rises and sets on your first steps, your first words, your first day of pre-school, your first everything. I was the proverbial apple of my parents’ eye, and I was convinced they’d never need, or want, anyone but me.
My mother, however, had a different idea. She was an only child — correction — a lonely child and was determined that no babe of hers would go through life without a sibling. In her mind, a brother or sister was the universe’s guarantee that you would always have someone to share your life with you. Someone related to you by blood who would never — could never — abandon you. A sibling was the life insurance policy she had invested and paid for in full, and I was the sole beneficiary.
Now, things might have worked out differently if Maggie and I were closer in age, but a six-year gap, especially when you’re young, is a wide chasm to cross. My mother wanted her children to be born no more than two years apart, but she and my dad had difficulty conceiving. To this day, I don’t know who had the fertility issue, but it took six years for Maggie to arrive. What I do know is the day that child showed up, my world stopped, reversed itself and started spinning in the opposite direction.
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✦ ALL HAIL, SWEET POTATO!
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For fans of quirky small towns, spirited debates, and stories that tug the heart while making you laugh out loud.
When a mysterious orange bird named Sweet Potato lands in Fairfield Township, he sparks a social media frenzy, mends old rivalries, and reminds a fractured town how to care again. Told through neighborhood squabbles, hilarious online threads, and the quiet wisdom of a girl named Sofia, All Hail, Sweet Potato! is a sharp, satirical, and surprisingly sweet meditation on community, wonder, and the magic that sometimes shows up in feathers.
EXCERPT:
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It started in mid-October when Bruce516 posted a photo on Fairfield Township’s social media page accompanied by the following question: “Does anyone know what this is?”
The responses were instantaneous.
“What are we looking at?”- SGrumnanato9.
“Leaves. You don’t know what leaves are?” - OH-IO-84
“Is that level of sarcasm really necessary?” - GoBlu
“The trees in my yard are much prettier.” - Followmeoninsta001
“I saw trees like that when I was on vacation in Vermont. ”- luvtotrvl
“Call me for tree removal service. Mention my name for a 10% discount.” - Milton@cuttrees.
“I’M TALKING ABOUT THE BIRD! THERE’S AN ORANGE BIRD SITTING IN THE TREE, RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ORANGE LEAVES!!!” - Bruce516.
Upon closer examination, it was determined that there was, indeed, a bright orange bird nestled in the maple tree whose leaves were changing colors. The tree that stood right on the corner of Cherry Lane and Apple Blossom Drive.
A cascade of posts ensued regarding the origins of said bird, some claiming it was an oriole, others insisting it was a thrush, while a staunch constituency was convinced it was a warbler.
When Mr. Dankovich, the high school science teacher and football coach, weighed in saying he was fairly certain it was a parrot — a South American Sun Conure to be exact — he was summarily dismissed by the social media community who unanimously agreed that given the abysmal performance of his varsity team last year, he was in no position to weigh in on the matter.
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