
Caleb Crain Reads “Easter”
The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker
Grandad Jay's Slurred Words, He Could Give You Another Kiss
Grandad jay strained his pink hairless head, his lips puckered, toward their mother, who kissed him graciously. He said something that had the rhythm of a sentence, but was slurred. Jacob got into the back eat on the other side of his grandmother in the front seat,. framed against the wind shield like a movie projected on to a screen. They were driving past a gothic brick building with mullioned windows, set back from the road in a deep lawn. Let's hope they don't make me go back, eleanor said, laughing at the ghost of an old fear. Did you not like it? Alice asked, i thought you had so
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