Julie D. George - digivonae.com

PART 1 The snow was already sticking to the hood of my Chevy Impala when I walked into...

PART 1 At eighteen, you do not think about building a career. You think about keeping the lights...

PART 1 The ocean breeze in Destin smelled like salt, coconut sunscreen, and for the first time in...

PART 1 The ceremony had barely been over for seventy-two hours when the gravel in the driveway started...

PART 1 I was standing in the laundry room on a Tuesday afternoon, doing the same chore I...

PART 1 The dirt on Grandma Elsie’s grave was still damp when my cousin Dale backed his flatbed...

PART 1 The headlights swept across our living room blinds at eleven minutes past eleven on a Tuesday...

PART 1 In the spring of 1962, I was seventeen years old, sitting on the edge of a...

PART 1 When Pastor Thomas retired after forty years behind the pulpit at Grace Fellowship, the congregation gave...

PART 1 The rain had turned the strip mall parking lot into black glass by seven o’clock that...