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know, as she opens the back door, steps outside in the full glare of the sun, aims the pistol at the bleached blue sky, and fires.

All the Wildness in Her
    Janet never should have accepted that gift from Leland. He wanted to thank her for all she’d done for Esther. That poor woman, shrinking from cancer. Esther died a year ago, and Janet has hardly seen or spoken to Leland since. When he phoned, Janet tried to tell him he’d no need to give her anything. He insisted. He said Rosalee thought it would be all right. Janet knows he’s lonely, and since Rosalee approved, what’s the harm? She agreed to meet him in the alley between their houses. She doesn’t want him coming to the door.
    Broad daylight, he hands her a flat, narrow box. She doesn’t open it. Looking past his shoulder, she sees nothing but gravel and spent hollyhocks against her neighbor’s garage. The air smells like fall, of wet decay, yet crisp. She slides the box down, close to her hip, hiding it inside her palm and wrist.
    She’s shocked at the look of him, the white hair, sagging skin. Her own short hair is gray, full and wavy. She looks a bit like a schoolmarm, buttoned up, proper, a crisp cotton blouse worn loose over beige pants. She stays fit, mows her own grass, scoops her walks, bends over rows of greens and burgeoning tomato plants in her garden. She takes a few medications, heart, mostly. Her body has compressed. She’s shorter, heavy breasts sagging toward what passes for a waistline. She hates the droop of her jaw,the loss of definition between face and neck, but you can’t fight gravity. She’s not one to carry on about it. Freckled as a girl, her face, arms, and hands are mottled with brown age spots. Even so, she’s alarmed by the change in Leland. He must be, what, eighty-five? A few years younger than her.
    “How are you, Leland?”
    He shrugs. “You know.”
    She does know. She’s been widowed. Long time ago, but it sticks with you. She’s lived across this alley from Leland and Esther for over thirty years, but she didn’t know them beyond a passing acquaintance until Esther took sick. Of course, she knew about that rough time they had. The bankruptcy. They stuck it out, though. Once the target of gossip, they had become legends of a certain kind.
    “Well, it’s hard.” At a loss for what else to say, she nods and turns back to her house. She knows he’d like to talk. He’s a talker. She’s scared someone will see them, make this out to be something it isn’t, though why anybody should care what two old coots do on an autumn day is beyond her reckoning. She doesn’t stop to consider why she cares what people think. Conditioned by a lifetime of small town living, she draws her curtains at night. Puts her trash in sealed bags.
    She perches on the edge of her bed, the lavender chenille worn smooth from years of sitting in this exact spot to put on her shoes or talk on the bedside phone. She lifts the lid off the box. A bracelet winks up at her, gold discs with small stones, all different colors. Must be glass, though it looks expensive. Damn fool. He ought to know she can’t manage the clasp. Let him to try to put a bracelet on himself at this age.
    She holds it up to the light. Her eyes aren’t what they used to be. The jewels twinkle, green, yellow, pink. It’s a pretty thing, she does admit that.
    She ought to thank him proper. She sits at her kitchen table to write a note but can’t shape the words. She pictures the mailman, that Jerry, the smirk on his face. Plus, a note could lie around, if Leland wasn’t careful, and she’s never known Leland to be careful. Shocking, really. When Esther took sick, Leland was helpless. Couldn’t even boil soup. Some men are like that, but not her Carl. Carl liked cooking more than she did, was better at it. Ribs, his specialty, dry rub. She smacks her lips.
    Not thinking more about it, she calls Leland’s house, the number still in her memory from those times with