What Lies Between Us

by John Marrs

You are the person I share this house with, nothing more, nothing less. You mean no more to me than the shutters that hide what goes on in here, the floorboards I walk over or the doors we use to separate us.

If I guess the culprit correctly, I’ll be disappointed at how predictable the story is. If I get it wrong, I’ll be annoyed at myself for not spotting it earlier.

I take my glass of wine with me as I walk to that secluded area, and then sit on the grass by the only flower bed in the garden. I often find myself spending time there, recalling all that I’ve lost and what’s to come, as the hours pass. I love the privacy this corner offers and I understand why Maggie chose it. It’s the one blind spot – and perfect for a grave.