Cyndy Muscatel is the 1st place winner of Streetlight’s 2024 Flash Fiction Contest
Dressed only in her pajamas and Ugg slippers, Rebecca grabbed the parka off the hook and flung it over her shoulders. The weather had turned cold right after Thanksgiving–outside the wind had picked up, scattering leaves and tossing snowflakes hither and thither.
She shivered, castigating herself for leaving her book bag in the car. How forgetful could she get? She must have been in a hurry last night when she came home from work. She knew better than to leave anything in the car. Their mid-century home only had a carport. No security at all.
Almost there, she slipped on the wet leaves that had accumulated in front. She righted herself before she went down. Thankfully she’d always had great balance.
Rebecca pressed down on the remote and the lights of the car went on. She opened the driver’s door, which turned on the interior lights and looked in the back seat. It was empty. How odd, she thought. She was sure she’d put it there when she left the university. She decided to look in the trunk, but it too was empty.
“Becky?”
She turned at the sound of her name. Her husband stood out of the spitting ice under cover in the carport.
“Andy, what are you doing up at this hour?”
“Wondering the same about you, Becky. I woke up and you were gone.”
Rebecca looked at him. “Honey, you don’t even have a coat on. It’s freezing out!”
“I know. So why are you out here?”
“Oh, I left my book bag in the car, dumb me. And it has my dissertation in it.”
She frowned. “I know it was in here, but now it’s gone. Someone must have stolen it.”
Andy’s touch was gentle as he took her by the shoulders and turned her towards the house. “It’s all right, Beck. Let’s get inside.”
She pulled away. “But I have to get my dissertation.”
“Let’s not worry about it tonight. We’ll take care of it in the morning.”
Becky heard the reassurance in his voice and let him lead her to their front steps.
“Ok,” she said. “But in the morning, we’ll look for my dissertation.”
Andy closed his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly as the therapist had taught him. Becky had no need for her dissertation. It had been accepted thirty years ago. He didn’t bother to tell her that—he’d told her many times before.
“It’ll be all right,” he said. “It’ll be all right.”
Cyndy Muscatel, a former English teacher, has been published in many journals including The MacGuffin, Main Street Rag, North Atlantic Review, Quercus Review, and Jet Fuel Review. Her collection of published short stories “Radio Days” is available on Amazon. She is working on a memoir of her years teaching in the inner city of Seattle during the Sixties. She can be found be found on Facebook under her name, on Twitter @cynmuscatel, and on Instagram at @telcyn .
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