Beki Kennard

The Wayfaring Stranger

Joe moved in in the first week of August, less than two weeks after Anna’s father had quietly gathered his things in the early hours of the morning, and left. Her mother didn’t cry over him (at least not that Anna saw), and after a couple of days she borrowed markers from the neighbor, and she and Anna sat at the kitchen table drawing up flyers advertising room and board, for the little box room that overlooked the untidy communal yard.