Miss Benson's Beetle

by Rachel Joyce

It was as though her senses had secretly kept hold of a memory her mind had put away.

Her loneliness felt closer than her hands and feet.

Answered prayers can be frightening, suggesting—as they do—an obligation to act.

This puking, bawling, yellow-shitting tiny thing of wonder. She had entered Margery’s life with the force of a missile and taken up residence in a place Margery hadn’t even known was there, let alone vacant.