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Elaine Taylor

I

t’s always there, that sense of something missing. Ever since the day I came home and found them all sitting at the dinner table

without her. The lights were dim and yellow; Tom and Jane’s shadowed faces chewed unconvincingly at pieces of cold lamb chop. “Where’s Margaret?” I asked. Tom took a sip of water and started talking about the fall in share prices. He always talked about his investments, but this time he wasn’t there in what he said. Jane told me bossily, “Eat your dinner.” I was the youngest. “But where’s Margaret?” I asked again, trying to swallow a mouthful of dry potato. “The garden is such a mess,” Mother said. “The leaves seem to have fallen all at once this year.” She rushed out of the room and slammed the door, something I had never known her do. I took another mouthful of potato and felt it cling to my gums. I put down my knife and fork; everyone else had stopped pretending with ÉCLAT FICTION

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MAY 2012

Profile for Eclat Fiction

Éclat Fiction - Issue 3  

The third issue of Éclat Fiction (an online short story anthology). www.eclatfiction.com

Éclat Fiction - Issue 3  

The third issue of Éclat Fiction (an online short story anthology). www.eclatfiction.com

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