The book is full of miniature stories of boy meets girl.

Some are historical…

Georgina sat in the parlor with her mother and father, waiting for the sound of Edwin’s boots on the porch stairs.  Would he bring flowers?

Jane tried not to bite her lip. “Henry.  And George. How good of you both to call on me this rainy afternoon.”

…and others are contemporary…

She continued typing. “It takes more than beer and loud music to get a woman into bed these days.  Unlike my mom.”

Amelia knew, of course, that the picture was twenty years old and wouldn’t look like him anymore.  She slid it back in the envelope.

Each story presents a tiny slice of romance and invites you to imagine the rest of the story.  They can be read in a single sitting, or sampled one or two at a time at the end of a long day.

Rough & Beautiful is available on Kindle for $1.99, and can also be viewed on any device with a Kindle reader app including the iPhone, iPad, iPod and Droid.

Buy the book here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0054EQ92U

A note to blogging book reviewers: I will give a free copy of  Rough & Beautiful to the first ten bloggers who write a review within ten weeks of receiving the book.  No strings attached.  A positive review is not requested or required.

Kathy picked up one of the envelopes.  “You’re sending a book to Britain?”

“Two, actually.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”  The sign-up form had let me choose where I would agree to send books, and I had checked the boxes of all the English-speaking countries.  Looking back on it, I might have let my enthusiasm get away with me.  My marketing efforts were scattered.  It’s hard enough to find an audience in one country, much less six.  If I had been smart I would have focused on readers in the United States.  Still, it made me smile to imagine a British gasp of joy when my parcel was received in the post.

“Maybe it’s a good idea,” said Kathy.

I stopped writing the address on the envelope.  “Why is that?”

“Well – you have a British sensibility.”

“What does that mean?”

“I just mean people over there might like it.”  She gestured in the direction of England.

“What about people here?”

Kathy shrugged.  She didn’t need to tell me that the results in America had been mixed.  I had offered five copies to other reviewers using the same service I was using now.  The first two reviews had been enthusiastic, the next two had been lukewarm, and the last person had not given a review at all.

“Well, I’m not everyone’s cup of tea,” I said.

“There you go!  That’s British right there.”

“Because I said cup of tea?”

“How many people drink tea in” – she looked down at an envelope – “Deerfield, Illinois?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Maybe,” she said over the rim of her coffee cup, “you should have sent all the books to England.”

I knew she was trying to take the mick out of me – tease me, as it were – but the more I began to think about it, the more I liked the idea.  In a smaller country like Britain, maybe an unknown book could be discovered and become hugely popular instantly.  Kind of like the Beatles coming to America in reverse.

And from literary success I skipped straight into the movie adaptation.  I said, “Who do you think should play me in the Burning Embers movie?”

“You’ve been thinking a lot about this, haven’t you?”

“Just answer the question.”

“John Cusack.”

“No, the British version.”

“John Cusack,” she said.

“I was thinking Kenneth Branagh.”  I looked at her to see how she like the idea.

“Well, he does have thin lips like you.”

“Okay.”

“And he is very charming and good-looking.”

“Yeah, like me.”

“…Uh-huh.”

“Okay then.”

“But Kenneth Branagh isn’t really your type.  Too…dashing.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.  Maybe Hugh Grant would be better.”

“What?  You don’t like Hugh Grant.  Every time we watch movies you tell me how he’s too, too, whatever it is.”

“Smarmy,” said Kathy.  “Some people would think it’s a compliment to have Hugh Grant play them.”

“Sweetie, there are two problems with what you just said.  First, you don’t think it would be a compliment to have Hugh Grant play anybody.”

“Oh, God, he is so smarmy.”  Kathy’s head rolled back so that it almost fell off her shoulders.

“And second, why would it be such a compliment to have a good-looking actor play me?  It ought to be the easiest job he has all year.  But no, you’re thinking it’s like when Charlize Theron played that serial killer in Monster.  You’re thinking, Hugh Grant might win an Oscar for playing me.”

I knew what Kathy was thinking.  Charlie, you are the only person I will ever meet who owns a copy of the soundtrack to Music and Lyrics.  That’s got Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore in it, and they’re both singing.

When she spoke, what she said was this: “Charlize Theron is too blonde.”

“She’s a great actress.”

“She’s a great blonde actress.”

“She could play you.”

“Please.  She might be able to play a serial killer, but she can’t play a redhead to save her life.  And she’s not British.  Anyway, back to you.  How about Colin Firth?”

“Who’s Colin Firth?”

“You know, he’s that actor – he’s British – who plays all these really nice guys.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve heard of him.  What’s he been in?”

“Oh I don’t know, all kinds of things.  His characters are all really nice.  Kind of like the father or the uncle.  You know, nice and British, but in a nice way.”

“So he’s nice,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“Not a badass.”

“Uh…no.”

“Doesn’t sound right for me, then.  How about Ewan McGreggor?”

“I don’t like him.”

“He’s great.”

“No he’s not.  He just thinks he’s God’s gift to acting.”

“He played a junkie in Trainspotting.  He wasn’t God’s gift to acting in that.”

“I hated him in that too.”

“And he was young Obi-Wan in the new Star Wars movies.”

“Yeah, I know, and I want to just crumple all those movies into a ball with him in it and throw it in the garbage.”

“So you have no love in your heart for Ewan McGregor?  None?”

“None.  And by the way, that sounds like something Colin Firth would say.”

“Really?”

Kathy raised an eyebrow.  “Really.”

“Cause I was thinking Colin Firth would be the kind of guy to say, “SHOW ME WHERE A MAN MAY GO TO SLAY AN ORC WITH BARE HANDS, FOR MY LOINS ARE GIRDED WITH BITTER RAGE IN MUCH NEED OF HARSH EXPRESSION.” You know, kind of like kung fu Shakespeare.”

“Do you know anyone who talks like that?”

“Personally?  No.”

“And if you did, would he be named Colin?”

“You can’t just judge by the name.  Bruce Lee was named Bruce.  He could have sold life insurance with a name like that.”

“That would have been a very bad business for him,” said Kathy.

“Yeah, you’re supposed to wear a shirt to work.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“So we haven’t found the perfect actor to play Charlie,” I said.  “What about Kathy, hmm?”

“Yeah, what about me?”

“Well, who’s the greatest actress in Britain?”

“Cate Blanchett?”

“No.”

“Kate Winslett?”

“No, not her.”

“Who?”

“Judy Dench,” I said.

“She could play my mother.”

“She could play anyone’s mother.  She’s a gifted actress.”

“Sorry, Judy Dench won’t work.”

“What about Maggie Smith?”

“Not her either.”

“Helen Mirren?”  I framed a movie screen with my hands.  “Back in the big screen, in her greatest role since Prime Suspect.”

“Charlie, how old am I?”

“How should I know?  A lady never tells, right?  That’s what you always say.”

“That’s right.  But what I can say is that Judy Dench, Maggie Smith, and Helen Mirren are in a different generation from me, and even though I love them very much –”

“Yeah, they’re really great.”

“– even though I love them very much for all the work they’ve done over the years, it wouldn’t be good casting to have them play me.  At least not yet.”

“Sounds like maybe never.”

“Um, yeah,” said Kathy.

“Who else, then?”

“I was thinking Miranda Richardson.”

“Great!  She’s a redhead.”

“Yeah.  And she’s also very funny and talented.”

“Didn’t she kill her husband in Sleepy Hollow?  I’m not sure how funny that was.”

“The Headless Horseman killed her husband and she controlled the Horseman, so you could say she did it.”

“And didn’t she play a woman without a husband in Blackadder II?”

“She was Queen Elizabeth.  What did you expect?”

“You want to be played by the Virgin Queen?  Yeah, right.”

“Charlie!”

“All I’m saying is there aren’t a lot of husbands hanging around Miranda Richardson, and Burning Embers is about a marriage.  See the problem there?”

“No.”

“Well pick someone else.”

“Fine.  How about Emma Thompson?  She’s excellent.”

“Yes,” I said, “and blonde but not too blonde.”

“Whatever.”

“And I loved her in Nanny McPhee.  She just banged her stick on the floor and all her warts went away.  And she always wore black, like an English ninja.  Do you think we could get her?”

“Well,” said Kathy, “let me make a few phone calls.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“No.  I have her phone number on the refrigerator.”

“You are being sarcastic, aren’t you?”

“No, I went to tea with her and Renee Zellweger just last week.  We exchanged beauty tips.”

“Renee Zellweger?  Really?”

“She’s way too blonde.”

“Damn!”

“And I was just being sarcastic anyway.”

“I knew it!  I can always tell.”

“You read me like a book.”

“Thank – ”

“Oh!  I just remembered.  Colin Firth was the father in Nanny McPhee.”

“That’s Colin Firth?  Him?”

“Yes.  He’s really sweet.”

“He was crushed by his own children!”

“Because he was so nice.”

“If they were my kids there would have been a boot up their ass.”

“Indubitably.”

I looked at Kathy.  “That’s sarcasm, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely not.  So maybe Colin Firth isn’t a good idea.”

“Damn straight.  I could sop up runny egg with Colin Firth.”

“Fine.  If you don’t want to be played by Colin Firth that’s okay.  Who do you think should play you?”

My eyes fell.  “You would think it’s stupid.”

“Who?  Let me guess: Chuck Norris?”

I didn’t look up.  “You’re being sarcastic again, aren’t you?”

“No way.  Chuck Norris kicks ass.”

“That’s right.  But I wasn’t thinking Chuck Norris.  He’s not British.”

“Ah,” said Kathy.  “I forgot.”

“No, I was thinking John Cleese.”

“You like the older actors, don’t you?  At least John Cleese makes me laugh, like you.”

“And he was in Harry Potter, like Emma Thompson.”

“So was every other actor in Britain.  It’s kind of like a jobs program for actors over there.”

I said, “Yeah, I don’t know what they’re going to do over there when they’ve finished making Harry Potter.  A lot of standing around, probably.”

“Nah, they’ll go back to Masterpiece Theater and the Royal Shakespeare Company, that kind of thing,” Kathy said.

“Or kung fu movies.  I haven’t seen a British kung fu movie in a long time.”

Kathy moistened her upper lip with her lower lip.

“So,” I said, “John Cleese and Emma Thompson playing us?  Do you think it would work?”

“Better than Ewan McGregor and Judy Dench.”

“That could have worked too.  I don’t care what you say.”

Kathy patted my shoulder. “You better hurry up and mail those so you can get that movie made.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Before all your actors die of old age.”

“Yeah, right, thanks.”  I picked up the stack of envelopes to take them to the post office.  “Hey, Kathy?”

“What?”

“Who do you think should do my voice in the Burning Embers video game?”

“Morgan Freeman, definitely.”

I smiled.  “That’s what I was thinking too.”

About the Author

Charlie Close is the author of  Burning Embers and Other Stories of Marriage, Work, and Family, ISBN 978-1598588187, a collection of comic creative nonfiction.

He is also a writer of very short stories. His mainstream stories are published on Twitter at @CharlieClose, and his romance stories can be found at @apinchofpassion.

Visit Charlie’s blog at http://charlieclose.com.

Get a free copy of Burning Embers

Did you enjoy this story?  Burning Embers is a collection of stories like the one you just read.  I’m looking for people to write a review or a blog post about Burning Embers, or link to this blog, and I will send you a free copy of the book anywhere in the world.  (My marketing efforts are still not very focused.  I like readers everywhere.)   Contact me at charlie dot close at gmail to discuss details.

Want a free copy of Burning Embers?   Offer to write a review on Amazon.com within 30 days of receiving a review copy.  Contact Charlie at charlie.close AT gmail for details.

Audio version, read by Charlie

If anyone asks me, “What is the smartest thing you have ever done?” I will have an answer.

The surprising thing is that it has nothing to do with my job or any of my hobbies. I’ve done a few smart things, it’s true, but nothing like this. The smartest thing I ever did is a story of true love and snatching victory from the jaws of defeat.

A few years ago, Kathy, my wife-to-be, was still living in Flint, Michigan and I was living in Seattle, Washington. We had already met, courted, fallen in love and decided we were going to be with each other. Kathy was trying to sell her house so she could move to Seattle.

Kathy had no interest in Seattle itself. She had lived her whole life in Michigan and would not have thought to move west if it weren’t for me.

But not so for Kathy’s little sister Marti. For some reason Seattle fascinated her and she wanted to live there. Maybe it was the hot music and culture scene, or maybe it was just because Seattle was not Flint. Marti had loved Seattle, or the idea of Seattle, for a long time.

She convinced her best friend Crystal to move there with her. They packed their things and boarded an Amtrak train. I met them at the station when they arrived and helped them get started in their new home. Kathy expected to join us all as soon as the house was sold, which could take weeks or even months.

Those are the facts, but the truth goes deeper. Kathy and Marti’s parents both died within ten days of each other when Kathy was twenty-two and Marti was fifteen. Kathy raised Marti for the next ten years.  They lived together, took care of each other, and are as close as two people can be. When Marti moved away Kathy wasn’t just losing a roommate or a sister – she was sending her daughter out into the world for the first time.

The day Marti left, Kathy was still in the middle of packing as much of her house as she could, surrounded by shoulder-high piles of boxes.

Moving is always hard. It makes you look at the old possessions of your life and ask what they mean now. Moving is lonely work.

I knew all this was happening even though I was thousands of miles away, and I knew Kathy would feel sad and alone in her house that day.

I realized I could not do much, but I could send her some flowers to tell her I knew what she was going through and that I was thinking about her.

I was pleased with myself for having the idea. That, I thought, ought to register about a 9.8 on her you’re-so-sweet-o-meter. And in hindsight I really was thoughtful, especially for a self-absorbed, never-knows-what-to-do, women-are-from-Venus dork like I was in those days.

I was so thoughtful that for days I didn’t actually get around to ordering the flowers. Just knowing that I would send Kathy flowers to cheer her up was enough for me.

Well, time slipped away and I did not try to place an order until the day before they needed to arrive. I walked home from work a little faster that evening, and I could feel that I had not left much time.

I walked up to Johnny’s Flowers.  Even before I got there I could see it was closed. The time was 6:20 PM.

Uh-oh, I thought. No panic, no panic. There were two more shops up the street. I walk-galloped, gripping the straps of my book bag to keep it from bouncing on my back. I went to the first store, and to the second – both closed.

The walk back down to my apartment was long and slow, and my thoughts were dark and stormy. If I came up to a stone in my path, I kicked it.

But then, just as I passed the post office a block away from home, I had an idea and I started to gallop again.

I ran into the apartment, threw down my bag, and picked up the phone. I dialed Information.

“What city, please?”

“Honolulu!” I said.

“Go ahead,” said the operator.

“Give me the names of three flower shops. I don’t care which ones.”

She took a moment and told me the names. I wrote them down. “Would you like me to connect you, sir?”

“Sure,” I said. “To the first one. Thank-you.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

The phone began to ring with a tone that sounded a million miles away. A woman answered it. “Island Flowers. How may I help you?”

“Are you still open?” I demanded.

“Yes, sir, we are.”

“Oh, that’s great, because I’m calling from Seattle and we’re two time zones ahead of you. Everything’s already closed here.”

“Well, we’re open, sir. How can I help you?”

“I need you to send flowers to Flint, Michigan tomorrow. Can you do that?”

“Of course. What would you like?”

I placed the order, hung up the phone and threw both hands into the air. “Yes!”

I felt like I had just scored the winning goal at the Soccer World Cup. (Call me Rafael Pantanagua. ) The announcer cried “Goooooooooooooooal!”, and I ripped off my shirt and whirled it over my head as I took a victory lap around Estadio Nacional in front of 80,000 screaming fans. They could all see my small but very athletic torso. Some of them pulled off their shirts too.

I went to work the next day and I told everybody. And when I say everybody, I mean everybody. I told the story so many times that I honed it into a speech I could deliver from memory.

I said, “Did you know that Hawaii is two hours behind us in Seattle?” I told them about Marti coming here and how my girlfriend Kathy was sad and alone, and how I tried to send her flowers and screwed up, but that it turned out okay because of Hawaii.

Most of my coworkers listened politely. Some of them laughed, and some of them asked why I didn’t just call FTD’s toll free ordering number.

“Oh,” I said. “Well, because I didn’t know about that.” To me it made the achievement even greater because I had had less to work with. Who is cleverer, the person who builds a house with a belt full of tools, or the one who builds it with his bare hands?

That’s right. I thought so.

This, too, was before you could buy flowers on the Internet. Things were primitive in those days. All we had was the telephone.

But the best part of the day, better than telling the story to all my coworkers, was when the phone rang at my desk and it was Kathy.

“Hey, you,” she said.

“Heeey,” I said.

“Somebody just sent me some flowers. Some hunky guy. You know anything about that, Mister Charlie Close?”

“Well, maybe I do. Hunky guy, huh? What’s he look like?”

“He’s tall and handsome and he’s got cute hair that looks all messed up in the morning, and he’s very considerate…”

“He does sound hunky,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Kathy, trailing off…

Ladies and gentlemen, a call like this is what makes it all worth while. I was so happy.

Now the next thing I wanted to say was, “Did you know that Hawaii is two hours behind Seattle?…” Kathy would listen to anything I said now and think it was great. I came this close to telling her about the trick I had to pull off to get her flowers.

But I didn’t, not that day. I told her instead that I knew she would be feeling sad and that I was thinking about her.

I used to think that calling Hawaii was the smartest thing I ever did. But now, if anyone ever asks me, I will tell them this -

I was smart enough, that one time, to shut up.

Thanks to Laura Carpenter and the staff of Little Professor for a great afternoon.

Charlie

L. Stansbury wrote,

If you need to laugh then curl up in a warm fuzzy blanket, add this book, and enjoy. Now you have all the ingredients to have a conversation with a funny friend… I recommend you read this book in bits as the stories are too precious to be rushed through… Now enjoy reading and make sure to share with friends who will appreciate the book as well- there is something about the book that screams “share me!”

…and…

appydo1 wrote,

This is a wonderful book!!!!! Aside from being touched by these stories on a very PERSONAL level, having originated from the same part of the world (Pacific Northwest), and having been though a number of similar life experiences to those the author relates, this collection of anecdotes is to be savored by anyone, from anywhere, who enjoys a good laugh!… As one sits, listening and chuckling (often at the expense of the teller), one comes to realize how funny and good life can be. I consider reading this book as definitely time well spent!!! A really feel-good experience!

Thanks to the reviewers for their kind words. “Burning Embers” is available for sale now at Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com.

Charlie

I read bunches of stories, including “Dunkin’ the Barbarian” from the book, and a brand new story called “Ciao Baby”.

Thanks to chef Leslie Owens for providing a fine, fine dinner for the audience, mistress Kathy for the mixed drinks (sad to say I didn’t get one because I had to work), and to everyone who came to listen to stories and get a book.

After the reading I signed books, and I discovered a new literary practice: hug the writer.

Burning Embers is on sale now, ISBN 978-1598588187, available at Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com.

Do you have an event that needs some enlivenment? Book party? Wedding? Bar Mitzvah? Christening? I give fun readings and will entertain all offers. Contact me at charlie DOT close AT gmail.com.

Charlie and Mary

Charlie and Kevin

Charlie and Mellie

Charlie and Mariah

Burning Embers cover

…and here’s a link to the rough drawings.  Enjoy.

Charlie

In the past, I have had trouble with buying cards and gifts for Kathy at Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and other special occasions. I’ve meant to do the right thing, but there have been times when I have forgotten, run out of time, or not paid enough attention to what I was buying, and hurt and disappointed my wife. I have made so many mistakes that I have written them all down and held myself up as a bad example to other men. I’ve told them to learn from me and do better than I did.

Being an object lesson is not as easy as it looks. It means that now that I’ve confessed my sins and repented of them, and led the congregation of men in the singing of hymns to take better care of our wives, I had better not commit the sins again.

Which is why I was on the Internet on February 8^th to order flowers for Kathy for Valentine’s Day. There was no way I could allow myself to forget. And, even though I was only doing the right thing, on time, like any responsible adult would do, I still felt a little proud of myself.

And I was still feeling proud that night when the phone rang and Kathy answered it. I could tell by what she said that it was the credit card company.

“Yes,” said Kathy, “I made that purchase. From England, yes. Yes, that’s fine.”

Two months ago Kathy had bought a teddy bear from a shop in England. It was an expensive bear and the shop had agreed to charge her in installments. Last month, after the first installment, the credit card company called us and asked questions about our purchases to make sure someone hadn’t stolen our card. It caught their attention when someone living in the United States suddenly made purchases in Britain. It was good to know that our credit card company was looking out for us.

Now they were calling again this month to check up on the next installment. Kathy told them this was a legitimate purchase. And, just to be sure, the agent at the credit card company asked other questions.

“Shell gas station? Yes, that’s fine.” She knows I buy gas on the way home from work.

“Il Restaurante D’Oro? Yes, that’s fine.” Kathy nodded. We both like Italian food and we ate there last week.

And then she looked at me and stood up on her toes, and smiled with the phone still pressed to her ear. “Well, I don’t think I’m supposed to know about that, but, yes, I think that’s okay.”

Oh, damn! They must have told her about the flowers. Those were supposed to be a surprise! Couldn’t I keep a secret for even eight hours? Didn’t they train these people not to give away Valentine’s Day purchases to people’s spouses?

Kathy did not see any of these thoughts. I just smiled back at her, glad to see her glad. Happy February 8^th, sweetie. Love you!

The agent, however, was not finished, and Kathy’s expression turned a little more confused. “Victoria’s Secret? Red satin camisole and tap pants? Um, absolutely.” She looked at me, and I winked. Sometimes flowers aren’t enough.

“Love butter? Love butter? That’s Victoria’s Secret, too, right? Oh, good. Yes, that too.”

Well, I thought, if they were going to give away my Valentine’s Day surprises, they might as well do them all.

“Four pounds of Max the Muscleman’s Extra Potency Protein Powder?” Now she squinted. I lifted both biceps in make-a-muscle pose to show her the purchase was for my new strength training regimen that I hadn’t told her about yet.

“McDonalds? How much? Forty-three dollars? What the hell did he eat at McDonalds for forty-three dollars?”

Kathy listened to the agent say she didn’t know the answer to that question, and I called out that it wasn’t just me. I took a coworker too. And you couldn’t eat the Protein Powder by itself. You had to mix it with something, like Diet Coke.

“Three ticket’s to the Godz of Hard Rock summer tour? Well I hope he doesn’t expect me to go. It sounds awful. And who’s the third ticket for?”

The agent didn’t know that either, and I cursed her again for ruining another surprise that I was going to spend all spring laying the groundwork for.

“Well let me ask you,” said Kathy, “what would you think if your husband bought three tickets to a show he knows you wouldn’t like? Wouldn’t you want to know who the third ticket is for?”

I started to speak up to answer this question. I had thought Kathy’s sister Marti, or her friend Wendy would want to go.

But Kathy turned her back to me and I could not get the words out. Now she was listening to the agent talk.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. They do the dumbest things, don’t they? Did I tell you that one year he bought a foam rubber neck pillow for Valentine’s Day? What kind of gift is that? Oh, yeah, oh, yeah? You do? Really? Well, sure.”

Kathy walked over and held out the phone to me. “She wants to talk to you. Her name is Suchita.”

My eyes went wide and I shook my head no. Kathy held the phone closer and I pulled away. “I said no!”

Kathy stuck her tongue out at me and put the phone back to her own ear. “No, he won’t do it. Yeah, figures. Anyway, all those purchases are legitimate. Why yes, the bear is very cute. I just love it. Was there anything else you wanted to tell me today? Okay, thank you so much for calling. Bye-bye.”

The phone went beep when she pushed the off button. She looked at me. “Protein powder? Workin’ on those muscles, are we?”

“No, I just like how it tastes. It comes in strawberry.”

“Kind of like the shakes at McDonalds.”

I shrugged. “I like strawberry.”

“Mm,” said Kathy. “I see. Could I make a suggestion?”

“Sure.”

“Carry more cash with you.”

I nodded. “That’s a good idea,” I said. It was a really good idea.

She stepped up and wrapped her arms around me. “Thank you for the flowers. I’m sure they’re going to be beautiful.”

I hugged her back. “You’re welcome. Sorry they messed up the surprise.”

“That’s okay. I’ll dry them so I can still look at them when you’re taking your two mistresses to The Godz of Hard Rock.”

“I was going to take you and your sister, but now that you mention it, do you suppose Suchita would want to go?”

Kathy lifted her head off my chest and looked up. “I doubt it. She already knows you too well.”

Did you enjoy this story? It is an excerpt from the new book by Charlie Close, Burning Embers and Other Stories of Marriage, Work, and Family. To order Burning Embers, go to Amazon.com or BarnesandNoble.com, or order a signed copy directly from Charlie.