{"id":2919,"date":"2015-11-23T04:01:52","date_gmt":"2015-11-23T04:01:52","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/?p=2919"},"modified":"2015-11-23T04:01:52","modified_gmt":"2015-11-23T04:01:52","slug":"winnebago-by-chase-cline","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/winnebago-by-chase-cline\/","title":{"rendered":"Winnebago by Chase Cline"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Ween<\/a>
Ween by James Sholes<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Winnebago<\/h1>\n

by Chase Cline<\/p>\n

I sat across from Sarah in the kitchen, her dark brown hair held to one side with a scrunchy. She was wearing a pink robe, faded from years of wear. It was now past twelve on a chilly October night.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo why can\u2019t you sleep?\u201d she asked. I had been tossing noisily, hoping she might wake up too.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s that couple I told you about. The ones that were in that R.V. accident.\u201d<\/p>\n

About a month ago, the paramedic team and I were called to a wreck on Willow Lane. We could already see where the R.V. had driven off the curve. The aluminum side rails had given way. The R.V. was resting down in the woods where it had landed.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about them?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe accident made them face reality. They\u2019re getting a divorce.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt happens.\u201d Her spoon clinked against the side of her cup. She stirred her coffee constantly even though she drinks it black.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut fifty years\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked outside the kitchen window to give Sarah a chance to respond. She didn\u2019t. The husband, William, had talked to me when he was laid up in the hospital. I usually don\u2019t check on people I bring in\u2014in fact, I never do\u2014but something was different about these two. He and his wife were in separate beds beside each other\u2014each of them in full body casts with only holes for their eyes and nose. Like in a cartoon. They probably shouldn\u2019t have survived the wreck.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you need more coffee?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

She drew her robe tighter and crossed her arms.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut all those years they stayed together. Taking trips to the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone National Park, Niagara Falls. It was supposed to bring them together.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen why are they separating?\u201d she asked.
\n\u201cHe and Judith lost a child back in sixty-four. That\u2019s why they visited all those places. They had wanted to take their son but never got to. The Winnebago was supposed to bring them closer together.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sarah straightened up a little. \u201cYou never told me that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI haven\u2019t told you a lot of things.\u201d I took a sip of my coffee. The steam rose from the mug. \u201cJust one little mistake changed their life. All those years invested in one another\u2026just gone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat mistake?\u201d she asked as she slid her hand across her belly.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey had a son. His name was Michael. Or Mark. Something with an M. William got in his car one morning to go to work. But their front door must\u2019ve not closed all the way. The kid followed William outside. He didn\u2019t notice. And when he was backing out of the drive\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Sarah suddenly stood up from the table. The wooden chair squeaked across the cold tile floor.<\/p>\n

I swallowed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve heard enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wanted to tell him that they\u2019ve made it this far. That they could work it out. That it wasn\u2019t his fault. That you and me\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut it\u2019s always somebody\u2019s fault,\u201d Sarah said.<\/p>\n

###<\/p>\n

Chase Cline earned his MFA in Fiction from Stonecoast at the University of Southern Maine. His work has previously been published in Marathon Literary Review and Torrid Literature Journal.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I sat across from Sarah in the kitchen, her dark brown hair held to one side with a scrunchy. She was wearing a pink robe, faded from years of wear. It was now past twelve on a chilly October night.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1679,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_bbp_topic_count":0,"_bbp_reply_count":0,"_bbp_total_topic_count":0,"_bbp_total_reply_count":0,"_bbp_voice_count":0,"_bbp_anonymous_reply_count":0,"_bbp_topic_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_reply_count_hidden":0,"_bbp_forum_subforum_count":0,"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2919","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-story"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t