Fiction

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Lydia did not vacuum the floors or dust the overloaded bookshelves when the men started returning three years later, in small groups of fifty or five hundred at first. She did not stoop below her daughter’s small white desk, now the centerpiece of the family room, to gather up the tiny construction-paper piles that had …

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Listen to Alice McCormick read “Follow the Signs”: Eons ago, when I was young, my family and I went yard sale-ing. That was what we called it. We started about Memorial Day and finished about Labor Day. On clear, sunny Saturday mornings when the hot dew boiled off the fresh lawns, all four of us …

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