Abby
By Elizabeth Smith “Do you think it’s just a phase?” Carla asked. Zack kicked a stone on the path. “Like when she was obsessed with saving the planet? Timing our showers and sorting through the bathroom trash?” “It kind of evened out.” “Shouldn’t she be doing something tonight? I mean what kid wants to lounge at home on a Friday?” Carla pushed their little son, Lucas, in the stroller. “We’re the party animals, going for a walk.” “Hey, it’s better than the couch.” They came to a fork and picked the path to the left, which led them past some wild rose bushes and crabapple trees. There was the clicking sound of a bicycle chain ahead. Three cyclists leisurely rolled toward Carla and Zack, nodding and smiling as they passed. The last, an older man in a recumbent bike, donned a small rainbow flag on a tall wire. Zack averted his eyes. They walked in silence to the edge of the brook. Carla unbuckled Lucas, who collected pebbles and tossed them in the river. “So,” Carla said, “what are we goi...
