TITLE: BETWEEN SEASONS
GENRE: commercial fiction
A woman fresh out of a mental institution channels the memory of the long-dead man living in her new house in a short story.
The shed was just off the alley that ran to the rear of the house, the yellowing, overgrown grass a cautionary signal to yield . . . to what, I didn't really know. Sucking face was what my brother called it. My sneakers squelched in the muck, the sound of my soles like suction cups gross. Linnie leaned against the thin, rusted metal, her hair bright against the dull aluminum.
Before I could chicken out, I darted forward and put my lips on hers, just like I'd seen Paul Varjak do to Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany's - not that I'd admit to seeing such a girly movie. Our teeth clinked together uncomfortably, a slick click-clack of surprise.
I wondered for a moment about the germs in her spit - I could feel it on my lips, and as I pulled back, a thin string of saliva connected us.