It’s a Sunny Day on the Moon
“Jeanne Thwaites was last seen seventeen years ago stepping into a van on the edge of the Sahara desert. She is a manic depressive alcoholic, thrice divorced, with strong suicidal tendencies and an irrational fear of clouds.”
Uncle Aubrey’s Ashes
Aunty Holly was a very old woman with a small amount of silver gray hair combed into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Every bit of her skin was a network of tiny wrinkles like the underside of a leaf. Even her lips had vertical lines, but her eyes were black beads like a bird’s. She was eighty and still played tennis, but very badly. Rollo kissed her and she hugged him, dropping the Newsweek, as she did and burning his hair with the cigarette. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and rubbed the back of his head.
“Did I singe you again, darling?” she asked.
“Only a little bit” he smiled, for he loved her.
Well there you are Lucien, I phoned you didn’t I?” she turned her face for his father’s kiss, “I can’t remember why.”
“Aubrey’s ashes!” he told her.
“Ah yes! God Bless him, there they are!”