“Falling Out” by Thomas Mitchell

The cool water of the lake bit into her as she reached for the canoe, hands slipping against the polished surface, tired legs kicking slowly at the darkness . . .

“Burnt Ground” by Thomas Mitchell

—Why’d you come? she said.
—The boys were busy, I guess.

I looked around. Her Nana’s house was just how I remembered: another old villa that desperately needed a coat of paint. I tried not to look at her. I could remember how good Tala looked, dressed and undressed . . .