“In half a mile, turn right onto Oak Avenue,” GM said.
“No, no,” Tom T. cut in. “That’s incorrect. He’ll want to turn right on Elm.”
“Absolutely not,” GM countered. “Oak Avenue is the fastest way to get to the destination.”
“In one thousand feet, turn right on Elm Avenue,” Tom said.
“Oak.”
“Elm!”
“Never mind.” GM sighed. “The idiot missed the turn anyway. How many times does that make on this trip? Six?”
“I’m not sure he’s even listening,” Tom said. “Let me recalculate the next step.”
“Got it!” GM crowed. “Continue on this road for four miles.”
Tom stayed silent for a few moments. “Five miles, and then merge onto Route 492.”
“That route will put him there three minutes later than mine,” GM said.
“And there’s a gaper delay,” Waze piped up. “It will add thirteen minutes to the total travel time.”
“Know-it-all,” Tom said, then continued with a hint of smugness, “But he complains about you sending him on squirrely routes. Let’s go with GM’s suggestion of four miles.”
“We’re down to three miles,” GM said. “Continue on this road.”
“You already said that,” Tom said. “But I suppose you can’t be too careful. Knowing him, he’ll make the turn too early.”
“Or not at all—again,” GM said. “If he never pays attention, why bother activating all three of us?”
“In a quarter mile, turn left onto Ardor Lane,” Waze said.
“Where the hell did you come up with that?” GM said. “He’s not interested in the scenic route.”
“Ardor Lane,” Tom mused. “Isn’t that where Sabrina lives? We went there often enough.”
“Attention.” GM raised her volume slightly. “In one mile, turn right onto Church Street. The destination will be on your left.”
“Maybe he’s changed his mind,” Waze said. “What time is the wedding?”
“I think it’s twelve-thirty,” Tom said.
“And we’ll get him there with a half hour to spare,” GM said. “Nothing like cutting it close.”
“He’s making a U-turn,” Waze said. “Watch for slow traffic at the next intersection.”
“Don’t turn, don’t turn,” Tom shouted. “You’ll regret it.”
“Done,” Waze said. “Your new destination is Ardor Lane.” There was pride in his voice. “Sabrina, here we come!”
GM sniffed. “And I so wanted to see them throw the rice.”
-
Mist hovered over the lake like a shroud. Hope stood at the point, past the flagpole and orange mums ringing its base. Nothing moved on the dark water. Too early for even the trawling fishermen. No one to witness.
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Born and raised in the Midwest, Dianna has also lived in three other quadrants of the U.S. She writes short stories, poetry and novels. Her full-length novel, Scream of the Silent Sun, was a finalist in the 2026 Next Generation Indie Book Awards for first novel.
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Born and raised in the Midwest, Dianna has also lived in three other quadrants of the U.S. She writes short stories, poetry and novels. Her full-length novel, Scream of the Silent Sun, was a finalist in the 2026 Next Generation Indie Book Awards for first novel.
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Born and raised in the Midwest, Dianna has also lived in three other quadrants of the U.S. She writes short stories, poetry and novels. Her full-length novel, Scream of the Silent Sun, was a finalist in the 2026 Next Generation Indie Book Awards for first novel.
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The flames danced in the fire pit, inviting Dulci to relax, but the drift of smoke rising into the night sky only darkened her mood. Cora, who knew her like any best friend should, was trying to help. But some things just hurt too bad.
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